


Superpowers & Hormones

by mattzerella_sticks



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Caring Dean Winchester, Dean has anxiety, Dean has pyrophobia, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2018, Drunk Dean Winchester, Enemies-ish(?) to Friends to Lovers, Evil plots, F/F, F/M, Fall Semester, Fighting, Homework, M/M, Mind Control, Miscommunication, Mystery, Panic Attacks, Parties, Pining, Saving the World, Simulations and Holograms, Strict Castiel (Supernatural), Sweet Dean Winchester, Tests, superhero high school, teen drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 23:45:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 56,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16377323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattzerella_sticks/pseuds/mattzerella_sticks
Summary: In a world where everyone is born with amazing abilities, the hope for tomorrow is taught and trained by the great heroes of today at the Academy of Letters. And after a long setback, Dean finally feels ready to attend the famed school – even if it’s only for one year. Still, he plans to have the full experience – from tough classes to lovable friends and even unforeseeable crushes.But nothing is as it seems. Something lurks under the surface, and Dean finds himself tangled in its dark, twisted web. To break free, he’ll have to dig deeper towards the danger. And the closer he gets, the less people he can trust.Balancing superpowers and hormones might be tough, but Dean would rather that then whatever’s waiting for him behind the curtains.





	1. Origin Story

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone ~ I want to welcome all of you to my first ever DCBB!! I've been a huge fan of these ever since I joined the fandom, and am so glad I am finally in one! Now, before we all step into the world of 'Superpowers & Hormones', there are a few people I need to thank.
> 
> 1) First and foremost my dear friend Jess, who not only listened to me agonize about what I should write, but also being my cheerleader and encouraging me towards every deadline and reassuring me that my plot made sense.
> 
> 2) The wonderful artist, Potatofu, who did such a wonderful job on these pictures and was an overall wonderful person to work with! I'm so glad you were my partner, and really helped make this a memorable first submission!! (https://theabsolutemagicpotato.tumblr.com/post/179320629669/here-is-my-art-masterpost-for-the-dcbb-fic)
> 
> 3) Finally, the people who run the DCBB - Jojo and Muse! Because without them, we wouldn't have this supernatural exhibition.
> 
> Now on to the story!!

       Dean spent nearly his entire day packing, yet his duffel remains half-empty. Looking around the room at upturned drawers and emptied shelves, he tries to think of anything else to add. He’s already picked out the clothes he’d be bringing – three pairs of jeans, a pair of sweatpants, two sweatshirts and a few tees. Since he’ll be walking around in a uniform most of the time, casual clothes aren’t high priority for day-to-day. And when he’s not in uniform, he’ll be in his _suit_.

        He turns, eyeing the dark spandex where it hangs off his closet door. Stuffing it in his duffel would only ruin the effort and time he spent in getting it nice and clean. Dean even paid extra to get all the bloodstains rinsed out at the cleaners. The black suit is simple in its design, a sleeveless one-piece that has white stars trailing down the sides. His gauntlets were tucked nicely into his boots, silver in color. And propped against those were his shield and saber, gifts from his thirteenth birthday that he’s been using ever since.

        “Taking one last look around?”

        Dean startles, whirling to where his mother, Mary Winchester, leans against the doorjamb. Or, as she’s better known when she’s in costume, Hunter. The worn brown leather has seen better days, but still fits nicely. She’s wearing it more casually – hood down, domino mask off – so she must have gotten back from patrol fairly recently.

        “Ma,” Dean sighs, “No…  just making sure that I’m not forgetting anything.” He opens the duffle up further, inviting her to take a peak. She moves closer.

        “Did you pack toiletries?” she asks.

        “Yep.” He lifts the smaller bag up for half-a-second before dropping it back in. “Filled with all the stuff I’m gonna run out in within the month.”

        “Well that’s why they let you have weekends,” Mary says, rubbing his shoulder, “So you can do errands like shopping and _laundry_.” He steps away, rolling his eyes.

        “Just what I want to do with my free time,” he grumbles, “That and _homework_.”

        “Now come on,” Mary continues, “Don’t overthink this. I’m sure you’ve gone through your room three times over,” she glances around the space, “Or you’ve developed some kind of weather-power since I saw you last and made a tornado tear through here?”

        “Nope,” Dean says, “Still stuck with the same ol’ set I’ve had since birth.”  Not that he’s complaining – having skin like steel has been a major advantage growing up. Punishments had to get creative, since neither his mom nor dad could spank him without hurting themselves. And no stunt was too wild for his daredevil years. But now, it’s finding use helping carry on with the family business.

        Hunting bad guys and saving people.

        He’s lived by that code since as long as he can remember, and now he’s going to school to help carry on the legacy.

        “Such a shame that that’s _all_ you have,” Mary chuckles, “Cursed to have _indestructible_ skin. Would save me so much money on skincare products.” She sighs, rubbing at her cheeks, “I can fight robots, take down baddies, but time and wrinkles seem to be _my_ only weakness.”

        “Please,” Dean scoffs, “Like you don’t have hundreds of fans who would take your place in a heartbeat.” Mary blushes, but doesn’t disagree. How could she since Dean isn’t wrong? Hunter, founding member of the League of Letters, has one of the most dedicated fan-bases. Even in semi-retirement, she still has people stopping her on the street: asking for autographs and taking pictures.

        “Well let them,” she says, “Then they can deal with heightened senses in a house with two teenage boys going through _puberty_.” Now Dean turns red, avoiding knowing eye contact.

        “Anyway,” Dean starts, “You sure you think I don’t need to pack anything else?”

        Mary smiles, tugging him into a tight hug. “You’re _fine_ Dean,” she tells him, “They’ll have everything you need in your dorm, and if you forgot something – it’s not like there’s no way we can get it to you.”

        “Yeah you’re right… it’s just,” Dean sighs, collapsing out of Mary’s hold and onto his bed, “I don’t want to mess this up, is all. It took me so long to get to this point… I didn’t think I could get in to the Academy, even with my legacy status, but… ugh, I’m just being stupid.”

        “No, you’re not,” Mary joins him, grabbing his hand, rubbing soothing circles into it. “Dean, it’s okay to be scared. We both know it’s been a tough road getting here… you’d have gone sooner if your dad… if he didn’t…” She chokes up, the words wedged in her throat even though it’s been years since John passed away. Dean squeezes her hand, now on the other side of comfort.

        “Yeah,” he says, “That was… it hit us all hard. I don’t – I don’t regret staying here, though. It was the right call.” John Winchester, better known as the Marine, was the reason Mary went into retirement, and also why she came out of it.

        Yellow Eyes, an old enemy from their Letters days, was a tricky villain with pyro-kinesis and a weird obsession with the Winchester family. He was locked away after nearly killing Sam years ago when he was still a baby. Thankfully his powers were already starting to show, so both Mary and John awoke to the flashing mental image of Yellow Eyes standing over Sam’s crib. They took him down, expecting it to be the last they’d ever see of him.

        That is, until one night when John was called in to handle some low-level thugs in a warehouse unit.

        There was nothing left but ashes come morning.

        Mary took on the case, even reuniting with a few of her old buddies. And after Yellow Eyes was captured, she didn’t hang up her suit – deciding the world still needed the Hunter. But with Mary gone, someone had to take care of the house. Dean liked to clean and cook – and Sam was near useless when it came to basic chores. It was obvious what he had to do.

        Being a hero is always about sacrifice, and that was one Dean was willing to make at the time. Now, though, with Mary having a better work-life balance and Sam capable of using more than the microwave, Dean realized there was nothing holding him back.

        “He’d be so proud of you,” Mary says, “Just like I am. You’re going to do so great there, sweetie.”

        “Aw Ma…” He sniffles wiping away a stray tear, “You gotta do this now? I haven’t even left yet?”

        She offers a watery chuckle, “You rather we do this at the bus stop? That way we put on a show for all your new classmates?” The thought sends a cold shudder through him. “That’s what I thought.” She stands, clearing her throat and moving towards the door. “I’m going to get changed,” she says, “And then we’ll have a nice family dinner.”

        “Of course,” Dean smirks, “Do you want me to start or should I let you get used to cooking on your own?”

        “You know I was able to manage just fine before you got in there.”

        “Trust me,” Dean laughs, “I remember.”

        “And your true superpower is revealed,” Mary says, halfway out the door, “Ruining a moment.”

        He rolls his eyes once more before turning back to his duffel. After checking it a final time, he zips it up and places it near the door next to his backpack.

        Dean heads towards the kitchen, whistling a jaunty tune. He passes Sam on his way over, ruffling the thirteen year-olds hair.

        ‘ _Jerk_ ’.

        “Hey,” Dean turns, pointing a stern finger at the younger boy, “What did I say about telepathy indoors?”

        “That if I have nothing nice to think I shouldn’t project it into other people’s heads,” Sam recites, eyes leaving his book to stare at Dean, “But trust me, I _was_ being nice.”

        “Thanks,” Dean says, “What do you want for dinner, squirt?”

        “You think you can make a salad?”

        “ _Dinner_ Sam,” Dean repeats slowly, opening the fridge to survey their options, “You can’t fill up on _garnish_.” The only response he gets is a bag of leafy greens flying at his face. He staggers back to the sound of adolescent snickering.

        ‘ _Damn telekinesis_.’

        “I heard that!”

        “Bite me,” Dean flips him off, avoiding the bag as it continues to fly around him. He lets it bump up against him a few times as he gathers ingredients for burgers. By the time he’s reaching for fries, the bit’s gotten old.

        “Cut it out!” Dean yells, grabbing the bag and slamming it onto the counter. It rips open, with leaves flying every which way.

        Sam looks on, unamused, “I thought you were supposed to have _thick_ skin.”

        “Oh that’s it –“

        “Enough!” Mary walks in, freshly out of her suit. She glances harshly between both boys. The brothers sheepishly avoid her stare. “Sam, stop bothering Dean with your powers it’s not nice. And Dean, just make Sam his salad, it’s literally the easiest thing to make.”

        “It’s the principal of the thing, Ma,” Dean tries, but gets shut down almost immediately with another fierce look. “Alright… but no fries for him.”

        “I’m fine with that,” Sam shrugs, returning to his book, “And yes, Dean, you can have my portion.”

        “…Didn’t say nothin’.”

        “But you were thinking it.”

        “Whatever,” Dean shakes his head, smiling, pulling the meat out and shaping it. He loses himself in the work after that, the preparation of burgers as soothing as listening to the waves lapping against the shore or the feeling of speeding down an empty highway with nothing but the sound of Plant to keep company.

        ‘ _Don’t think about Baby_ ,’ Dean reminds himself, watching the patties start to brown, ‘ _She’ll be in good hands…_ ’

        “Hey Dean,” Mary comes up to him, “Can you put another burger on?”

        “That hungry?” Dean asks, “I guess a superhero needs her strength…”

        “Not for me,” she whacks his shoulder, “I invited Bobby over. He’ll be missing you just as much as we will.” He smiles; glad to know that the circle of ‘people who will miss Dean Winchester’ has extended from two to three. “In fact,” Mary looks to the clock, “He should be here any –“ _Ding Dong!_ “minute.” She chuckles and heads towards the door.

        Dean can hear them from the living room, Bobby’s and Mary’s laughter. It’s not long until he feels Sam pushing his way into Dean’s mind, however.

        ‘ _Ugh, Bobby’s at it again.’_

_‘What’s it this time?’_

‘ ** _God she looks so pretty_** _and_ ** _I wish I saw her kick that idjit’s face in_** _: the usual.’_

Dean chuckles, Bobby’s crush on their mother a source of entertainment for him. He’d always expected it, especially as he got older. Bobby worked alongside Mary and John in the League of Letters –was their best friend. After he was kicked out of the group, they still took time to keep up with him, the only members that were on his side. The older man was also a constant in Dean and Sam’s life growing up – taking them fishing and teaching them all sorts of things. Bobby, being psychomimetic, was always picking up new skills, and he loved to show off.

        His sword came from Bobby being bored one weekend and queuing up a playlist of metallurgy videos on YouTube.

        After John’s death, however, Bobby took a more prominent role in their lives. He helped Mary as much as he could, whether out in the field or just being there for her and her kids. That was when Mary started to shift in Bobby’s eyes. It only became apparent when Sam, with all the tact of a nine-year old, asked him with no precursor “How long have you liked mommy?”

        Dean didn’t care for cleaning up the broken glass after that. But having his suspicions confirmed – that almost made up for it.

        ‘ _I mean, I wouldn’t care_ ,’ Sam continues, ‘ _If he just learned how to_ ** _not_** _project it all the time._ ’

        ‘ _Oh leave him be, it’s not like he’s ever gonna act on it anyway._ ’

        ‘ _And how’s that any better_?’

        Their conversation ends once the adults come back. Bobby claps Sam on the shoulder before taking a seat next to him.

        “Good book ya got there,” Bobby says, “Not so much a fan of how it ends though.”

        Sam raises a brow, “You’ve read this book?”

        “Just now,” he shrugs.

        “Would you like a beer, Bobby?” Mary asks. At his grunt, she grabs two bottles – for the both of them – and two cans of sodas. “Dean,” she continues, “how much longer until the burgers are ready?”

        “Ours are done,” he says, “Bobby’s will take a few more minutes… but the fries are ready, so we can get to plating and all that.” He spies a plate moving of its own will out from the corner of his eye. “By _hand_ Sam,” he snatches it in mid-air, “Put down the book, or I’ll have Bobby spoil the ending.”

        Sam sighs, shutting it and joining Mary and Bobby as they fill their own plates. Dean worries that he might lose the extra fries he gave himself; but Bobby reaches for the salad instead, grumbling about ‘doctors’ and ‘dieticians’. They all get settled, talking about their days – mostly Sam and Bobby listening as Mary describes each fight in great detail.

        Soon enough, though, Dean brings Bobby’s burger over to his plate, sliding it onto the bun, and takes his own meal and sits across from Sam.

        “I sure am gonna miss your burgers, Dean,” Bobby starts, chewing on a large bite, “You make cholesterol so damned tasty you’re _okay_ with heart attacks.”

        “Thanks Bobby,” he chuckles, taking a bite of his own burger, “But it’s really not that big a deal… I left instructions for Ma and Sammy if they wanna take a stab at it.”

        “Instructions?” Mary asks, “Is that what you call the heavy set of notecards you left on my dresser?”

        He blushes, “Ma…”

        “You got a set, too?” Sam asks, “I just thought he left those for me.”

        “Why do you think I wouldn’t get them?”

        “Mom, we’ve all seen you cook…”

        She harrumphs while everyone shares a hearty laugh. “Yuck it up,” she says, “But I’ll just take it as _you_ volunteering to take on kitchen duties while Dean’s away.”

        “Mom…”

        “It won’t be bad, Sammy,” Dean says, “If you have any questions you can still call – and I can walk you through it.”

        “You sure you’ll have time for that?” Bobby asks, “Those Letters bastards’ll have you doing all sorts of things – who knows if you’ll be able to sleep.”

        “Don’t be so dramatic Bobby,” Mary says, frowning, “Dean will have a lot of fun – he’ll be busy with all his new _friends_.”

        “Never too busy to check in on you guys,” Dean says, taking the air out of the moment, “Trust me. I’ll try and check in every week.”

        “It doesn’t have to be much,” Mary tells him, reaching across to squeeze his wrist, “Even a simple text. Your priority there is growth – don’t let us be a distraction.”

        “You’re never a distraction,” Dean says, looking at each of them, “You’re my family.”

        “Wow, Dean,” Sam starts, “This must really be a special occasion – for you to break your ‘chick flick moments’ rule.”

        “Cram it,” Dean grunts out, shoving fries in his mouth to stuff up the leak in his emotional dam, “Already regretting my promise.”

        “You say that now, boy,” Bobby says, “But after your first week you’ll be missing how we get on yer nerves.”

        “Stop trying to scare me Bobby,” Dean laughs, “really.”

        “Yeah, tonight is supposed to be a party,” Mary says, standing, “Celebrating Dean and wishing him tons of success. Which is why,” she moves over to the cabinets and pulls out a familiar box, “I bought this.”

        “Pie?” Dean asks, grinning wide as Mary brings the pastry over. She flips it open to reveal a steamy apple pie, baked to gooey perfection. His mouth waters at the sight, and he finishes the burger in two bites.

        “I got it on my way home,” Mary tells them, doling out slices, “I’m pretty sure the picture is gonna start circling as one of those – what do you boys call it? Me-mes?”

        “ _Memes_ , mom,” Sam says, “And please tell me you’re joking?”

        “If you don’t think me waiting in line in my costume, surrounded by civilians, is hilarious,” she says, “Then I am finally out of touch with today’s youth.”

        “As long as we don’t see you on Buzzfeed, Ma,” Dean says, bringing the entire table to life with uproarious laughter. He looks around one last time at his family, and feels a warm ache in his chest. Like someone reached into his chest and is giving his heart a bear hug. Surrounded by family and pie, Dean feels that no matter what comes at him tomorrow or the next day or even the upcoming semester – he’ll be ready to face.

        He’s sure nothing will get under _his_ skin.


	2. A Hero's Welcome

        They say when the day arrives – the one you’ve been waiting for all your life – your body hums underneath. That you tap into a reserve of energy, a personal generator, which propels you forward. Time would speed up like an odometer in Dean’s hands, packing all of the grandeur and wonder into a neat little montage you’ll be able to recall within months.

        Dean feels that _hum_ , but it’s nothing like they said. He woke up exhausted, with an itch under his skin and stomach in knots. Getting through breakfast and the ride over to the bus stop was torture, and not even one of John’s cassettes could calm the tempest roaring within his mind. Seconds ticked by like hours, now, as he stands outside by the bus stop.

        “You’re going to have so much fun, Dean,” Mary coos, flattening out his hair, “I wish there was a program like this when _I_ was starting out… granted, you wouldn’t have this _without_ me but… I’m rambling.”

        “Nah, keep talking, Ma,” Dean says, voice warbling, “Distracts me from throwing up.”

        “Throwing up what, Dean?” Sam asks, eyes barely leaving his phone, “You only had, like, two bites of your waffles.”

        “Shut up, nerd,” Dean turns on him, “Can’t you cut me just a little slack?”

        “No.”

        Dean groans, head hanging within his hands, “ _Ugh_.”

        “Whoa Mom, look – it’s Hunter!”

        He peeks out from behind his fingers, where a fair-haired girl looks up at Mary with stars bursting within her eyes. Behind her, an older woman with a similar face but darker hair, struggles to rein her in.

        “Joanna Beth, what did I tell you about stickin’ your nose where it don’t belong,” the girl’s mother pulls her back, “I’m right sorry there, Hunter –“

        “Please, call me Mary,” she holds out her hand, shaking the other woman’s, “And I don’t mind at all. Always glad to meet a fan.” She winks at the girl, cracking apart the embarrassed mask to free a wide grin. “So, Joanna Beth,” Mary continues, “Are you waiting for the bus to the Academy of Letters, too?”

        Dean, shaken out of his stupor, now notices the familiar deep blue blazer he’s seen on countless pamphlets and websites on the girl’s wiry frame. It pairs well with the golden tie and grey slacks she also wears.

        She nods enthusiastically, “Yep! Back for another year at – wait… _too_!” She gasps. “Are you going to be coming along as well? Oh my God, I can’t believe – I never thought –“

        “No, no,” Mary cuts her off, wincing, “I’m here seeing my _son_ , Dean, off… it’ll be his first semester.”

        “Oh,” she turns to Sam, “well it shouldn’t be too hard. You’ll fit in with all the other kids your age.”

        “Mom wasn’t talking about me,” Sam smirks, bringing all the attention onto Dean, “She was talking about _him_.” Jo glances over in his direction, and the realization makes the ship sitting within Dean’s chest sink further.

        “Oh,” she frowns, “But… you’re my age?”

        Her mom whacks her, “Joanna Beth, be nice.”

        “Sorry, sorry,” she says, “I meant… you’re my age? I can’t believe it – now we get to be _best_ friends and share all sorts of classes.” Chuckling, she glances at everyone’s faces, each unmoved by the flat attempt of a save. “Anyway,” she clears her throat, “It’s nice to meet you.”

        “You too, Joanna Beth –“

        “Jo, please,” Jo cuts him off, “Only my mom calls me that.”

        “And for good reason,” her mother says, “I’m Ellen Harvelle, pleasure to meet y’all.”

        “Harvelle… Harvelle…” Mary mutters, thinking, “Wait… you don’t mean like ‘Harvelle’s Roadhouse’?”

        “That’s the one!” she smiles, “Yer lookin’ at the proud owner.”

        “I’ve always wanted to go there!” Mary tells her, “But my work has me on alert at all hours, I never find the time to go out.”

        “If you do, just mention me at the door – I’ll be sure to give you a great meal on the house.”

        “Oh, no,” Mary blushes, waving her off, “I couldn’t impose –“

        “Take it, Mom,” Sam mutters, “With Dean gone we’ll need any chance we can get to have a decent meal.” Both Mary and Dean smack him, leaving twin bruises on his shoulders. “Or not… and we can fumble around the kitchen until it burns down…”

        Dean has a retort ready to fire on his tongue, but all their attention turns to the sky as engines burst onto the scene. A large freighter lowers from above, hovering just feet above the street. It’s very intimidating, with the Letter’s logo embossed on the side in the same color as the uniform. A large whirring sound starts, and a hatch opens up beneath the behemoth. Jo springs ahead, only turning back to give Ellen a kiss on the cheek, before she’s rushing up the steps.

        He feels Mary behind him, crushing him into a hug. “You just go and do your best,” she says, “And remember – you’re battling evil, not _yourself_. Be kind.”

        “I will Ma, thanks,” Dean smiles, squeezing her wrist, “But – I won’t be able to do that if you don’t _let go_.” He breaks from her embrace, offering up a sad smile. She nods, moving back to stand with Ellen. He tries to carry on, but a loose grip on his wrist stops him.

        “Hold up,” Sam starts, pausing until Dean looks at him, “Just… remember that we’re here rooting for you. We believe in you… don’t forget that.” He moves to take Dean’s hand in his, squeezing it, and dropping something within. “Now go,” Sam tells him, “You don’t want to keep ‘em waiting… _jerk_.”

        “Of course not, bitch,” Dean laughs, pocketing the gift and grabbing for his luggage. He runs over to the stairs and leaps up them two at a time. Before he enters, he takes one final look back at his family. They wave, and Dean nods before stepping into his next adventure.

        “Welcome aboard – Dean Winchester,” a robotic voice greets him, “Please, place your luggage in the designated area and continue on towards your seat.” He follows the arrows, stowing his duffel and gear in a separate compartment, and continuing down with his backpack.

        All eyes are on him – he can tell. Besides the first years, he’s the only other person not dressed in the school’s uniform. Dean feels out of place in his plaid, denim, and leather. Just as he’s about to try and throw himself off the bus, he sees Jo wave him down a few rows away. He steamrolls past the other students and collapses in the empty space next to him.

        “Took you long enough,” Jo smiles, punching him lightly on the shoulder. She frowns, rubbing at her knuckles. “Ouch,” she says, “Remind me not to do that again.”

        “Sorry,” Dean shrugs, “Indestructible skin. What about you?”

        “Thin patience and no sense of self-preservation.”

        Jo kicks the seat in front of her, sending the redhead sitting there into a fit of chuckles. She looks back, smirking at the two of them.

        “Can it Bradbury,” Jo warns, turning to Dean, “Don’t listen to Red Racer over there, sometimes her mouth is faster than her brain. _My_ powers are enhanced accuracy.”

        “Yep!” Bradbury adds, “Jo here can hit almost any mark… if you don’t count high marks on tests!” Jo kicks her chair again, rattling the redhead off her perch. She climbs back up with a frown.

        “That’s not nice, Jo,” she says, “Making me look bad in front of the new kid.” She turns to Dean, “My name is Charlie – resident speedster here at the Academy! Who are you?”

        “I’m –“

        “He’s Dean Winchester,” Jo jumps in, “He’s _Hunter’s_ kid.”

        “Hunter!” Charlie yelps, leaning further over the seat, into Dean’s space, “For real? Oh-em-gizmo that is cool to the maximum power!”        

        “Isn’t it?” Jo gushes, clinging to Dean’s shoulder, “You wouldn’t _believe_ what it was like seeing her in person…” The two girls start chatting animatedly about Mary, to Dean’s chagrin.

        ‘ _Great_ ,’ he thinks, ‘ _Five minutes in and all I’ve managed to do was start a Hunter fan club…_ ’

        “You’re gonna fit in so well here,” Charlie turns to him, “Hunter’s kid? I’m sure you’ve been doing stuff we can only _dream_ of!”

        “Well, I mean – not really,” Dean winces, scratching at his red neck, “Sure I was able to tag along on a few missions but… it was low-level stuff: bank robbers and the usual.” Meeting their starry-eyes, he flushes deeper. “A lot of what I did was training with my Uncle. I – uh… I know how to swing a sword?”

        “A sword!” Charlie cries, “You have to show me when we get to the Academy! Swords are the coolest!”

        “Charlie,” Jo sighs, “You can _literally_ run at the speed of light –“

        “But _swords!_ ”

        “I hope your happy,” Jo needles Dean, “Now we’re gonna have to deal with her crazy sword talk for the entire ride over!”

        “And how long is that?”

        “An hour or so,” she shrugs, “Depending if we don’t have to pick up anymore kids… Usually I’m the last one on the list but – who knows. We weren’t expecting you!”

        “And I wasn’t expecting all… this,” Dean chuckles, “Is everyone here this…”

        “Cool?”

        “Intense?”

        Jo frowns for a beat before relaxing into an easy grin. “Nah,” she says, “This school’s pretty much boring except for us. We might have set the bar too high – we’re sorry ‘bout that.”

        “Yeah,” Charlie adds, “No one can handle our estro-genius!” She reaches over for a high-five, leaning too far forward and falling into Jo’s lap. Jo tries to push her off, but gets tangled in the redhead’s flailing limbs. Dean watches, wondering just what awaits him once they finally land.

* * *

        The League of Letters’ established their base in Northern Washington, within a large mountain. The cave was small but well furnished, fit to house some of the greatest heroes the world has seen. However, through the years, it has expanded from within its rock walls to surround the entire area. The headquarters now has a large castle-like structure sitting on top, the Aquarian Star embossed boldly at the front like on every other Letters-owned property. Extending from the entrance, a large runway lights up awaiting the large freighter preparing for landing.

        It sits with a loud _thwump_ , opening its maw like a metallic whale. Students pour out, a cacophony of noise as they swarm the tarmac. Dean clings to his belongings as he’s jostled alongside his new classmates. In the madness he lost Charlie and Jo, and now like a duckling without its mother, waddles helplessly looking for direction.

        “All new students please move this way,” a robotic savior tells him, motioning towards a door on the left, “All new students please move this way.” Dean pushes his way from the center of the crowd, joining the younger first-years in their line.

        “Hold it,” someone stops him – a woman in full-Letters uniform. Her mask obscures most her face, and the cobalt blue is pressed with not a single piece out of place. “This is for _new_ students,” she says, “Please go join the others –“

        “But I am a new student,” Dean tells her, “Dean Winchester – I’m uh…” he looks around, whispering, “I’m a transfer.”

        “A transfer,” she says, non-plussed, “I’ll have to check with –“

        “Dean Winchester! It’s been too long!”

        He’s squeezed from behind in a vice-like hug. The near-incapacitating pressure and the northern twang help Dean guess at who’s trying to break him from behind with hospitality.

        “Jody,” he wheezes, prying at her hands, “Can’t… breathe…”

        “Ah, I keep forgetting,” she sets him down, turning him. He smiles, getting a good look at Jody Mills – otherwise known as the Sheriff, co-founder and chairwoman of the League of Letters. In his periphery, he can see first years and experienced students alike give them a wide berth. The Letters agent from before has stiffened at her arrival.

        “Commander Mills, ma’am,” she salutes, “What a pleasure it is to have you grace us with your –“

        “At ease, at ease,” she chuckles, swinging an arm around Dean, “I couldn’t help but overhear. Listen, let’s get Dean fitted with his uniform and give him a big ol’ Letters welcome, okay?”

        “Yes, ma’am,” the woman salutes once more, grabbing Dean’s arm, “This way, we’ll bring you to the front of the line.”

        “No, really, you don’t have to – _oof_!” He’s dragged away in the middle of his protest. He looks back to where Jody waves to him.

        “We’ll catch up later!” she calls, “So glad you’re finally here!” Jody disappears into the crowd after that, leaving Dean to turn his attention to all his new classmates’ attention. Their stares are a cocktail of emotions – some curious, others envious. Especially those of the first years, watching as Dean takes the express route towards the front of the line.

        “We’re looking for a Winchester-comma-Dean’s things?” the agent asks once they made it to the welcome desk. Her co-worker quickly rifles through the list of names before checking off his name, handing Dean a folder and a box.

        “Will that be all?” the agent turns to him, now, awaiting orders.

        “I’m fine,” Dean manages through clenched teeth, face on fire, “Thank you.” She salutes him on her way out, turning the spotlight even brighter onto Dean. He can feel all their eyes like red dots on the back of his skull, students waiting to take aim and fire away. Questions, accusations, judgments locked away into the barrels of their mouths, taking great pains to keep their fingers on the safety.

        It’s too much for him to handle, and he scurries away, head down, into an adjoining hall. He focuses on his boots, on how they fit perfectly within each tile with every step he takes. On his breath as he breathes in _One-one-two_ , _One-two-two_ , _One-three-two_ , _Out_. On his heart sounding like Baby going over a million potholes.

        Before he gets too lost in his head, however, Dean slams into someone, sending him to the floor.

        “Oh crap,” Dean gapes, “I am, like, so sorry, dude – I didn’t… I didn’t see you.”

        “Clearly,” he mutters, voice rough like gravel under his tires, “Could you please – I mean – if you’re done standing there?”

        “Right, right,” Dean murmurs, dropping his stuff onto the floor. He reaches a hand down, grabbing at the other boy’s much warmer ones. Dean pulls, crouching to meet him at eye-level, taking in his features.

        He’s clearly been getting sun – his tan skin making Dean feel even more ghostly than usual. There’s light stubble dusting a seriously defined chin, with lips in dire need of some chapstick. When he flutters his eyes open, Dean catches a glimpse of breathtaking blue, like the color of lakes Bobby would take he and Sam to years ago.

        “No cuts, no concussion, that’s good,” he says, pulling his hand from his face, “Would be an awful way to start the year.”

        “Yeah,” Dean says, mesmerized, “It’d be a real shame…”

        The boy cocks his head to the side, “A shame…?”

        “To, uh…” Dean flails for a save, “To get blood on this… really clean floor?”

        “Indeed,” the other boy says. He looks from him to Dean, raising a brow, “If you wouldn’t mind?” Dean then notices the space between them – or how little there is of it. He springs to his feet, giving the other boy a wide berth. The other boy picks himself up, dusting off the back of his blazer.

        “You really should be careful next time,” he says, frowning at Dean, “Carelessness can cost lives.”

        “I wasn’t being careless,” Dean defends, “Just… distracted.”

        “Still not a good trait to have if one wants to be a hero.”

        “Hey!” Dean frowns, “I’m only human.”

        “Yes,” the boy nods, walking past Dean and further down the hall, “One who wants to put people’s lives in his hands. So…” he turns, cutting through Dean’s soul with his wary gaze, “Do be careful.” He rounds the corner before Dean can get the last word in, leaving him very flustered.

        ‘ _Who the hell does that guy think he is?_ ’ Dean thinks, gathering his things in a huff, ‘ _Calling me out for knocking him on his ass? Seems like the kid needed someone to do that – that… that… dorky little guy –_ ‘

        “Hey!” another agent calls him from down the hall, striding towards him, “Just where do you think you’re going?”

        “Oh I – um – actually…”

        “You lost or something?”

        “…Yes?”

        The agent shakes his head, muttering something under breath. “You should be heading towards the gymnasium along with everyone else for the welcoming ceremony. Hang a right here, then a left, and it should be the big doors at the end of the hall, okay? Now beat it.” He shoves Dean forward, disappearing even faster than the other kid before him.

        ‘ _Real nice place,_ ’ Dean thinks, following the directions, ‘ _Glad to see I’m making friends._ ’ He slows down the closer he gets to the large doors, standing at the edge of a group of students as they trickle their way inside. Dean almost stops completely once stepping inside: shocked by the enormity of the gym.

        It’s constructed like any regular high school gym would be – if it were built with the proportions of Times Square. On one side of the room, students of all ages find seats in the bleachers. Across from them, on the stage, members of the Faculty converse, each dressed head-to-toe in their costumes. Dean sees Jody, as well as a few others from Mary’s past and some new faces.

        “Dean!”

        Charlie rushes up beside him, startling him. She bounces up and down, “Jo and I thought we lost you! Anyway, come sit by us – we can compare schedules and see how close our dorms are to each other and – we’re over in the back right where Jo’s waving. See? See see see see?” The blonde puts her entire body into it, leaning over the shoulder of a broad-chested boy in front of her. In the blink of an eye, Charlie sits next to Jo, patting at the seat in front of her for Dean.

        Making his way through the crowd and stepping on a few toes, Dean joins them at their spot.

        “Dean,” Jo says, “Meet Benny Lafitte – resident Twilight.”

        “That joke gets less funny the more you tell it, Jo,” Benny sighs, shaking Dean’s proffered hand, “I’m a vampire –“

        “A vampire?” Dean parrots, leaning in with interest, “Like – like fangs and all that –“

        “Yeah, yeah,” Benny smirks, “I come with all the accessories – even the Dream House.”

        “Wait,” Dean frowns, glancing up at the open sunroof, “If you’re a vampire…?”

        “Oh my God, Dean,” Charlie whacks him, “You can’t just _ask_ a vampire why they’re out in daylight!”

        “I can’t?”

        “No, I’m quoting Mean Girls you – alright,” Charlie swings an arm around Jo, “movie marathon at _our_ dorm tonight! Mean Girls, followed by Legally Blonde, then Working Girl. We are setting the mood to maximum _fetch_!”

        Dean wants to say no. To tell her that tonight is about settling in and getting ready for tomorrow. For going through his mantras so he’s not drowning in anxiety the next morning. But he can’t say no – whether because of the excited look on their faces, the prospect of making new friends…

        Or the fact the loudspeakers blare to life in the next moment.

        “Greetings students!” a red-headed woman lilts into the microphone, “Allow me to welcome you all back to another, what’s going-to-be, great school year. Now, as most of you know, I’m the Vice Dean in charge of Student Activities… Rowena MacLeod. Or as some of you boys may know me from the posters in your rooms… the Violet Witch!” There are a few cheers, some claps, and a boy in a startling black suit a few rows ahead of them presses his hand to his head. “But enough about me… for _now_ ,” she laughs, “I’m only here for introductions. Please put your hands together for your Dean and mine… Mr. Michael ‘Archangel’ Novak!”

        The room shakes with how loudly the students roar as Michael floats down from the rafters in his costume: spandex in deep crimson, with a flowing golden cape. Beside him, Benny, Jo, and Charlie each make their case to join a stampede as they, along with everyone else, cheer for _the_ most popular superhero of all time.

        “Thank you, thank you,” Michael calms them, grabbing the microphone from Rowena, “It’s so wonderful to see all of you again – and to see so many new faces.” He winks down at the row of first years sitting in the front. “Now, coming here, you all must think how great of an honor it is to get to learn from such wise and experienced heroes. Well – it is, but really the honor is all _ours_ : to help shape and mold you future heroes into the protectors and leaders the world needs.” He starts floating towards the crowd, getting close and personal with his students, “Each and everyone of you will learn not only how to accomplish basic heroics, but about yourself – and the limits you will go to in becoming a _true hero_. And maybe one day… prove you have what it takes to be a member of the _League of Letters_.” The mass cheers once more, joined by the administrators up in front. Michael leers over the students, grin toothy as he surveys them all. He passes Dean, and their eyes lock.

        A weird tension builds in the middle of his brows. He feels something pressing against his head, rocking him back on his haunches. Dean presses a hand against the area, kneading it away. It only seems to grow in intensity until finally it passes, like a boulder tumbling downhill. He blinks back to awareness to find Michael in front of the gym once more.

        “Now I’ll cut this short, since tomorrow will be a big day for all of you,” he says, “Go forth, and remember: each day you are an inspiration to everyone who wants to be a hero – no matter their powers. Live up to that example. Good luck, and have a great year.” He flies back out the open sunroof, disappearing in the glare of the sun.

        “You heard the hero,” Jody says, center-stage, “The rest of the day is yours. Enjoy your free time while you can.” The faculty disperses, leaving the students to mill about until they see fit.

        “God, I don’t know how, but he seems even more inspirational than last year,” Charlie sighs, leaning on Dean’s shoulders, “What’d you think of it, Dean? Is that a first time you’d remember?”

        “Yeah but… not why you’d think,” Dean frowns, glancing at the sky light, “It just seemed… off.”

        “Off?” Benny asks, “How?”

        “I don’t know,” Dean sighs, “Everything I remember about Michael… hearing about him from my Ma… he wasn’t always this – this preachy and… _show-offy_.”

        “Your _mom’s_ met Michael?” Benny asks.

        “Dude,” Jo smirks, “His mom’s _Hunter_.”

        “Hunter!” Benny yelps, “Why slap a dress on a gator and call her my prom date, this true?”

        “Yeah…”

        “Wow,” Benny whispers, “That’s so cool.”

        Dean shifts uncomfortably, now that the focus is back on him and his mom. In his discomfort, Charlie manages to swipe his folder, and flips through the materials within.

        “Oh, awesome,” she says, “We have Superhero Legal Code and Hero-nomics 301 together! I hear there’s a group project at the end of the semester,” she turns to him, “Partners!”

        “Lemme see! Lemme see!” Jo snatches the folder, “Yes! Same ‘nomics class _and_ we have Combat  & Danger together.”

        Dean reaches for his papers, “Can I take a look –“

        “My turn!” Benny grabs it before he can, “Aww, we only have Life Skills together. Well ain’t that a shame.”

        “It is,” Dean grits his teeth – ‘ _One-one-two, One-two-two, One-three-two, Out_ ’ – and finally reclaims his folder. He flips it over to his schedule, reading out the listed classes. Besides the four they already told him, he also has History and…

        “What’s this supposed to be?”

        “That’s your elective, Dean,” Jo snickers, “technically, since you’re our age, you get to have one. Vice Dean of Academics Ms. Hanscum thought it would be more educational than us having more free time…”

        “So,” Dean asks, “What’s mine?”

        Charlie beams, “You, my friend, are taking Drama & Theater taught by none other than our _enchanting_ Ms. MacLeod!”

        Dean groans, slamming his folder into his face. “Drama?” he cries, “This is the worst. I hate being on stage…”

        “Aww, it won’t be half bad,” Benny tries to comfort, “Ms. MacLeod’s a real sweetheart once you get to know her – even if she can be a tad…”

        “Inappropriate?” Jo asks, “If I said half the stuff _she_ said my mom would lock me in my room until I was old and gray.”

        “Anyway… enough about classes,” Benny says, “ Now for the most important part – who’s your roommate?”

        Dean blinks at him, “Roommate?”

        “You know,” Charlie nods, “The person who you’ll be with the most – who will see you at your best, and your worst, no matter the hour!” She ruffles Jo’s hair; “Me and Harvelle here have been rooming since the very beginning – and look where we are!”

        “Yeah,” Jo mutters, fixing her ponytail, “I haven’t wanted to kill her _yet_.”

        “And my guy’s fun,” Benny says, “Little obnoxious but great at throwing parties.”

        Dean flips through his papers until he finds the dorm information. He reads through it, quirking a brow at the floor plan.

        “Wow…”

        “What?”

        “It says I’m in the Alpha Suite?” Dean tells them, “It looks… _wow_.”

        “Wait – Alpha?” Charlie asks, pressing hard on Dean’s shoulders, “Does it say who your roommate is?”

        He scans it once more, nodding. “Yeah,” he says, “Some kid named… _Castiel Novak_? Weird name but… Novak? Related to Michael?”

        The group groans, each throwing pitying looks Dean’s way. “What?”

        “Sorry to break it to you, Dean,” Charlie says, “But you’ve been screwed –“

        “What!”

        “You’ve been paired with Golden Boy Castiel,” Benny frowns, “A real shame, too.”

        “Wait – how is this a shame?”

        “Castiel Novak is, like, the highest-scoring student in the entire Academy _with_ a great power set _and_ he’s related to Michael, but,” Jo says, “he’s also the coldest son-of-a-bitch I’ve ever met. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t laugh – looks down on the rest of us. He’s never had a group partner, never sat with anyone at lunch, and never had a roommate – well, until now.”

        Dean snorts, “Sounds like a real charmer.”

        “He’s a little off-putting,” Charlie adds, “I tried to be nice but… after you’re brushed off for the tenth time, you find it hard to keep going.”

        An icicle drops into his stomach, plunging him from within into an icy malcontent. It must show on his face, as everyone starts to shift their faces into something more positive.

        “Anyway, we’re probably exaggerating,” Charlie says, “He likes to keep to himself so… I don’t think you’ll have any problems.”

        “Yeah,” Jo tells him, “Just keep your head down and – spend as much time as possible at our places. I mean, all you have to do is _sleep_ there, right?”

        “Exactly,” Benny agrees, “Before you know it, the semester will fly by – and who knows, maybe you can put in a request for a different roommate?”

        Their words don’t leave him feeling any better, especially now that he’s made his way from the gymnasium and over towards the Alpha Suite. It was a lone house a couple ways away from the building – almost cottage-like in its exterior. But a futuristic cottage with less wood and more metal. He steps into the Suite expecting more of the same.

        Inside, however, the environment is less harsh and cozier. The hallway leads into a small living room area, with a sunken sofa in front of an empty fireplace. There’s a television mounted nearby, between two electric sconces. On the other side of the house, a dining room and a kitchen have been set up with a circular wooden table, four chairs, and state-of-the-art modern appliances.

        “Wow,” Dean whistles, “No wonder they call it _Alpha_.” He looks over to where a solitary blue blazer hangs from a coat rack. ‘ _Alright_ ,’ Dean thinks, ‘ _Looks like roomie is here… might as well get this over with. Like ripping off a Band-Aid._ ’

        He walks further in and up the stairs, rounding into a hallway with two doors on opposite sides of each other. Light pours out of the left door, so he makes his way there.

        What he doesn’t expect is the boy from earlier to be standing in the middle of the room with a pained look on his face.

        “You.”

        He turns, eyes widening in recognition. “Ah,” he says, “You must be Dean Winchester, right?”

        “Yeah,” Dean nods dumbly, “You… Cas…?”

        His mouth thins, but he doesn’t move to correct him. “So,” he says instead, “I take it we’re roommates for the un-foreseeable future?”

        “Uh-huh.”

        “Very well,” Castiel walks over, “I will try to stay out of your way if you stay out of mine. It’s a pleasure to meet you… again.” He closes the door in Dean’s face, leaving him staring at the polished nameplate on the door.

        Working on autopilot, Dean manages to slip into his own room without tripping over anything. He stores his gear, puts away his clothes, and get everything set up, all the while his brain rushes a litany of ‘ _One-one-two, One-two-two, One-three-two, Out_ ’ followed by ‘ _I can’t believe_ ** _he’s_** _Castiel Novak!’_ The two thoughts cycle each other in a weird dance of predator-prey, each trying to devour the other. Dean breaks through the swirling vortex of his mind to find that he’s lying on his bed, staring up at the stucco, with nothing to do.

        His phone vibrates. He picks it up, to see a message from home.

        Sam: _I can feel you overthinking from here. Remember what I said… also, hope you enjoy the gift! :D_

        ‘ _Right_ ,’ Dean thinks, searching his pockets, ‘ _Can’t believe I almost forgot!_ He fingers the small item, dragging out a leather cord with a totem attached to it. It looks like the face off a statue worshiped in the ancient times by people in need of agriculture or fertility or, in Dean’s case, survival. But no matter how weird it looks, Dean can’t help but feel a sense of security and warmth bouncing off the trinket. He slips it overhead, playing with it and texting Sam ‘thanks’. ‘ _It might look a little strange_ ,’ Dean thinks, ‘ _But I’m not ever taking this off_.’

  His phone vibrates again, and Dean picks it up, expecting another message from Sam. This time, however, it’s an unknown number.

          Unknown: _Hey loser, we’re hungry. Let’s get our grub on._

          Unknown: _This is Charlie bt-dubs._

          Unknown: _You’re probably wondering how I got your number. Thing is, if I told you… I’d have to_ **_kill you!_ **

          Unknown: _jk I called myself on your phone when you weren’t looking :P_

          Dean smiles, texting her that he’ll meet her at the outdoor entrance to the gym. He slips out the door and looks across the divide at his roommate’s. 

_C. Novak_

          ‘ _Well_ ,’ Dean thinks, making his way out of the Alpha Suite, ‘ _this day sure has been… interesting.’_


	3. Fast Times at Superhero High

“Hello, students,” Jody greets them all from the front of the gymnasium, “Welcome to your first day of Combat & Danger.” She scans the faces of every student, taking in each expression and forming her opinions based on a single crease, dimple, or yawn. Dean tries his best to look interested, but Charlie kept him up too late with her marathon. And even when he did crawl into bed, sleep was far from reach thanks to the remaining nerves strangling his stomach. At least he fares better than Jo, who rests against her knees on the floor beside him. “This class will prepare you to handle various situations you’ll come across in your careers – whether taking down a mob of henchman or navigating through a building during an earthquake. It’s an alternating schedule: we study fighting techniques and spar on Tuesdays, while Thursdays we run through simulations in the training room. On those days, come dressed in your costumes unless stated otherwise – I believe full immersion is best in those situations.”

She carries on, starting with the same monologue all professors give on the first day; her hopes for the semester, what she expects from them, and everything else Dean gleaned from her syllabus that was stuffed into his backpack. His focus was drawn instead to the boy who, even in a gym with no set seating, still managed to sit at the front of the class.

‘ _Of course he’d be in my first class_ ,’ Dean thinks, staring at the back of Castiel’s head, ‘ _Even his posture is perfect…_ ’

When Dean had woken up, he moved on autopilot. He stumbled towards the kitchen in his sleep shorts and shirt, getting out the ingredients and tools to make pancakes. The smell of batter sizzling on the griddle helped wake him up, and by the time he had plated a small pile, his wits returned.

There was still enough batter for another stack, though. His recipes were made to feed an army of two growing boys, and in Dean’s half-awake movements, he forgot to adjust.

‘ _Maybe Cas wants some?_ ’ he thought, going back up to check, ‘ _Like a peace offering. ‘Hey Cas – mind if I call you that? Anyway, we got off on the wrong foot, so why don’t we have some breakfast and get to know each other_ ** _batter_** _, haha._ ’

It was a good start. If only he was there to hear it. Dean knocked and knocked, waiting for a response. After a good beat, he tried the door, finding it unlocked. It opened to a sterile room devoid of any occupation. He frowned at the sight, ‘ _Right… of course_.’

Pancakes were still good, even if he ate them by himself. At least _they_ can’t get up and walk away from him.

“So,” Jody says, clapping her hands together, “I thought today might be nice to see what you know. I’ll need two volunteers, let’s see…” The words send Dean’s mind into a panic, alternating between drawing into himself like a turtle and peeking up to make sure her eyes land anywhere but on him.

It was during this that, of course, they made eye contact, and Jody smiled.

“Dean, let’s get you up here and…” she looks to the front of the room, “Castiel. This should be interesting.”

‘ _Suuuuure_ ,’ he thinks, stepping over and around his classmates to follow Jody as she leads him and Castiel to one of the training mats. He takes one side, standing opposite his dorm mate.

“Now, I know it’s the first day and you might want to take it easy,” she starts, eyeing the two of them, “But seeing as this is an advanced class –“ ‘ _Advanced?!?_ ’ “ – I’m sure both of you will be okay with putting on a show for the class.”

“Rest assured, ma’am,” Castiel nods, slipping into a fighting stance, “I never hold back.”

“I’ll – uh,” Dean clears his throat, “I’ll try my best?” From across the mat, Castiel glowers at him, forcing the gears in his head to overwork themselves trying to decipher why. But before he gets too far ahead of himself, Jody calls for them to start. Castiel launches himself at Dean, aiming straight for the chest. Dean barely catches the blow before the other boy sends a knee at his gut. It tickles.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Dean chuckles, grabbing Castiel’s leg and swinging him around, “I’ve got – uh, pretty thick skin.” He tosses the Academy’s Golden Boy back to his starting point. He looks up at Dean from on the floor: head tilted, eyes squinted, studying him.

“I see.”

He slinks back up, adopting a looser stance than before, bouncing on his toes. Dean raises a brow at this, taking on a more solid defensive position. Castiel throws himself once more at Dean with a right hook, which Dean blocks, leaving him open to a sucker punch from his left that connects with jaw.

“Gonna have to do better than that,” Dean says, grabbing both wrists and locking them together in his hands.

Castiel smirks, “Okay.” Suddenly, Dean’s thrown off balance, blown onto his back by a powerful force. He’s not hurt, but the area around his chest stings, and there’s a singed circle on his shirt. When he looks back at the other boy, his hands dim from their bright glow.

“Laser hands?” Dean asks, “That’s what you can do?”

“Light manipulation, Dean,” Castiel says, “But I can fire lasers, on occasion. Are you finished?”

“Not yet, Lite Brite,” Dean teases him, rising. They circle each other before Dean makes the first move. He leads with a punch, telegraphing clearly so Castiel catches his fist before he swings around and places a kick to his back. Castiel flies away, tumbling, and Dean pounces, trying to land a good stomp to his chest. He rolls out of the way in time, and jumps up. He takes a few steps back.

“Scared, Cas?” Dean taunts, slamming his fists together.

“No,” Castiel says, “Just need some space for…”

“For?”

“ _This_.” Castiel runs forward, jumping up and landing on Dean’s shoulders, startling him. He twists, squeezing at Dean’s neck and pulling them both down. He tries to pry off Castiel’s legs, but they manage to fight Dean’s attempts. He stops when he feels the heat from Castiel’s burning hands on either side of his face.

“Yield.”

“Fine,” Dean pouts, still squirming, “Just let go already!” He keeps struggling, even when the vice around his neck loosens. Now no longer held in place, Dean’s pursuit of freedom only serve to flip him over – face landing on the other boy’s crotch.

He flings himself up, on both hands, to stare into equally stunned blue eyes. Underneath the amused snickering of his peers, Dean’s face burns red. He scrambles away from Castiel.

“Very fine show, boys,” Jody claps for them, drawing everyone’s attention to her, “Dean, I can see you’ve been trained well, but you shouldn’t let an opponent’s sudden movements shake you. Castiel, nice job adapting to your opponent’s power-set. And I see you’ve practiced your leg locking maneuver.”

“This past summer,” Castiel tells her, brushing off imaginary dust, “I _perfected_ it.”

“It shows,” Jody smiles. “Alright,” she turns to everyone else, “I want to see all of you break into groups of two and practice sparring. By the end of this class, everyone should be _sweating_.”

Dean doesn’t look up as the rest of the class pairs off and adjourns to nearby mats. He hangs his head, watching his hands twitch in his lap. ‘ _You’ve been in the field, fought alongside_ ** _Ma_** _,_ ’ he thinks, ‘ _But you got taken down by some kid who’s probably never had a match outside school grounds? Get it together Winchester._ ’

Overhead, he hears someone clear his throat. Dean looks up where Castiel watches him. “Shall we continue?” he asks, “Miss Mills doesn’t like it when we waste class time.”

Dean sighs, “Sure. Whatever.” He pulls himself up, ignoring Castiel’s proffered hand, and sets himself up for another round.

But this time, and for the rest of class, his heart isn’t in it.

* * *

“…and of course something we’ll get to later on in the school year, the silver age of superheroes – ushered in by the formation of the League of Letters,” Mr. Shurley drones on, standing at the front of the classroom. His long coat fans out behind him, hanging off his wiry frame like a disheveled bathrobe.

Dean watches Mr. Shurley from his seat near the back of class. Thankfully he was easily hidden behind a brick house of a kid – ‘ _Literally, like made of stone!_ ’ – so he couldn’t see him slowly slip back into unconsciousness during his lecture.

But it was his own fault – who even _teaches_ in the first class?

‘ _Everyone here… apparently_?’

It was only Dean’s second day, and the thought that it might get easier was further and further away. After Jody’s class, he had a short break before being intimidated straight into the grave by his Hero-nomics professor, Ms. Billie LaMort.

She not only taught, but forced each and every one of them to write a two-page paper on ‘ _The Social Costs of Heroics_ ’. He, Charlie, and Jo hunkered down in the library right after class to meet the midnight deadline. Dean didn’t make it to bed until an hour after.

‘ _Really, I can’t be blamed then_ ,’ Dean thinks, yawning, ‘ _It’s all Ms. LaMort’s fault. Dumb essay… never had to do those on my first day –_ ‘

“Psst! Hey!”

Dean turns bleary eyes to his left, raising a brow as Gabriel Milton waved a note between his fingers.

“What do you want?” Dean whispers back.

Gabriel scans the room, then leans closer to him, “Pass this to Balth?”

Balthazar Roché, Gabriel’s partner-in-crime, who sat on the other side of Dean. ‘ _Why they couldn’t have sat anywhere else?_ ’ Dean was warned about them from Benny – a first-hand witness to their mischief, seeing as how he’s Gabriel’s roommate.

“Wouldn’t they want to room together?” Dean had asked Benny in-between Working Girl and Clueless when Charlie made more popcorn.

Benny snorted, “They tried that one semester. Ended up burning down half the boys’ dorm midway through. After that, the two were cut at the hip – I got Gabe while Balthazar got put up with Crowley. But the little oddball was perfectly fine with the switch.”

“Why?”

“Told me Balthazar would always keep him up late with his wild sex parties,” Benny shrugged, “And from what I hear now, he and Crowley have a whole Eyes Wide Shut thing going on in their room.” Dean cringed at the thought, the image of the two students searing itself into his short-term memory.

“So?” Gabe asks again, “You gonna pass this or what?”

Before Dean can even tell the shorter boy to shut up, Mr. Shurley calls from the front of the room, “Is everything alright Mr. Milton?” Gabriel yelps, shifting form into that of a small mouse to the amusement of the crowd. Mr. Shurley looks on, unimpressed. He walks over and picks Gabriel up by his tail and brings him to the front of the room.

“Rule of warning,” Mr. Shurley starts, “If you want to talk to each other, pass notes, text – I’m cool with it; but not if it’s about cheating or about breaking the rules. For that, you _will_ be punished.” He looks to Balthazar, “Mr. Roché, I’m sorry to tell you that you’ll have to cancel your plans in town tonight, seeing as you and Mr. Milton will be here with me _organizing_ my filing system for the new year.”

“Oh come on!”

“Don’t worry it’ll be fun,” Mr. Shurley smiles, “I’ve already _seen_ that we have a fun time.”

‘ _Yeah_ ,’ Dean winces, ‘ _Hard to mess around with someone who has future vision_.’ That was what made Mr. Shurley – _Prophet_ – a huge asset to the League. Despite his very unimposing appearance, Dean’s heard interview after interview where League members lauded praise onto his ability. Without him, they wouldn’t have been able to win half the battles they’ve faced. Fans of his called him _God_.

It’s kind of hard to _not_ be intimidated by someone with a nickname like _that_. Dean puts a great deal more effort into paying attention.

And for the rest of class, from his perch on Mr. Shurley’s desk, he doesn’t hear a _squeak_ from Gabriel.

* * *

“Hello, dearies, let me tell you how much joy it brings me to welcome you to one of my favorite classes to teach here: Drama!” Rowena MacLeod starts, clapping her hands together from behind the little table she’s set up on stage. On it sits a steaming teapot and cup, filled with a warm brew stirred by a freethinking spoon. Dean watches her with a raised brow, still trying to wrap his head around the idea of drama being taught in a school for superheroes.

“You’re all probably wonderin’: ‘What am I supposed to learn in Drama? I want to be a hero?’ Well let me tell you – this will have little to practically no effect on your future careers!” He and the other classmates look at each other, confused, while she takes a sip. “This class wasn’t intended for training. Our electives offer students a chance to, as I like to say, _cut loose_. In here you aren’t your powers or your _silly little code names_ … you get to be _teens_ enjoying a _wee_ bit o’ fun before you go off to save the world and all that.”

‘ _Fun?_ ’ Dean thinks, ‘ _How she thinks standing in front of a bunch of people and letting them judge you is fun_ …’

“Anyway, enough about the class – you can all look at the syllabus… let’s get right into the thick of it.” She stands, clapping away the table and everything on it. Rowena stalks forward, her long, black dress swaying about. Peering between the rows in the auditorium, she smirks. “I want each and everyone of you to come on up here and do a little exercise – get the juices warmed up. I’ll be giving you some directions, and you follow them to the best of your abilities. Understood? Great… then let’s start with… Lisa Braeden.”

A brunette girl two rows in front of Dean stands up and bounces her way to the stage. She stops halfway across, facing them all with a bright smile on her face.

“How are ya dearie?” Rowena asks from her new seat in the center of the front row.

“Great,” she says, “What should I do?”

Rowena raises a brow. “Eager one are ya?” she smirks, “A _very_ eager beaver… so why not start there?”

“Excuse me?”

“Feel the beaver, Miss Braeden,” Rowena leans forward, hands clenched into fists, “Experience the beaver and _show_ us what a beaver means to you.”

Dean puckers tight at the command, watching with fraught apprehension as Lisa stumbles her way through their teacher’s directions. It’d be funny if the sandbag hanging precariously over his head weren’t fraying with the knowledge that at some point he’d find himself in Lisa’s position – maybe doing something even more ridiculous.

“That’ll be all, thank you!” Rowena cuts Lisa off from a poor attempt at making an imaginary dam. She returns to her seat with less pep in her step than before.

“Fergus Crowley,” she smiles, a different one than before, “I do believe it’s your turn.” Crowley grumbles his way forward, not hiding his disdain at all. He stands with his arms folded across his chest and scowl fixed in place – a direct challenge to their professor.

It all starts to blur after this. Dean’s classmates’ faces blend into each other the longer the process is drawn out. He can’t see anything but the bright lights under the stage. Can’t hear anything past the roaring ocean in his ears. His fingers grip tight on the armrests, trying to replace the rough plastic with familiar leather; pressing his left foot down hard into the seat in front of him. ‘ _One-one-two, One-two-two, One-three-two, Out. One-one-two, One-two-two, One-three-two, Out. One-one-two, One-two-_ ‘

“Dean Winchester!”

He feels everyone’s eyes like needles on his skin. Dean roughly swallows before standing on shaky legs. Like a newborn calf, he trudges the simple path towards the stage.

It’s even hotter up there on the pyre – waiting for his peers to make their opinions. For Rowena to toss the match onto the kindle under his feet and burn whatever hope he had of salvaging together a social life.       

“Okay Mr. Winchester,” Rowena starts, “Winchester… Winchester… familiar name. Ah, yes! I remember – _Mary’s son_ ,” she winks, twisting the knife deeper, “The son of a great hunter… how about you show me nature’s _greatest_ hunter.”

“Excuse me?”

“A lion, dear,” she explains, “Be a lion.”

Dean takes a beat to process the request, the little wires plugging into the right holes. He brings his arms in close, fingers splayed wide near his face, and mewls out a weak “Roar?” There’s a faint snicker from the far back that claws away at his confidence.

“More than that, I’m afraid,” Rowena tuts, “Lions are mighty, Winchester. Show me that _might_. Get into it!”

‘ _Kill me now, please._ ’

Dean drops to his knees and starts to crawl around. He tries for lion, but at his best presents a very large housecat. He bats at his cheek, claws the air, and stalks the stage.

“Show me more power, Winchester,” Rowena encourages, “I know you have it in you. Let out a roar.”

“Roar?”

“From your _diaphragm_ Dean,” Rowena encourages, “If you can’t roar here, how can you expect to roar into battle?”

Dean pauses, staring at her from his place on the floor. ‘ _Are you really letting this get to you?_ ’ he asks himself, getting angry, ‘ _She’s right – you’ve been out in public. You’ve punched down villains and saved people and wear_ ** _spandex_** _… why is this any different?_ ’

‘ _B e c a u s e y o u’ r e n o t h i d i n g b e h i n d a m a s k, t h a t’ s w h y.’_

Dean tries to force out a roar, but the lump caught in his throat blocks any sound. Everyone watches him now, waiting to see the mighty Winchester cub roar like his mother and father before him – but he can’t. He can’t roar, can’t yell – ‘ _Can’t let it out – Oh God, Oh God_ –‘

**Ring Ring!**

“Ah, unfortunately that’s all for today, class,” Rowena says, frowning, “Until next time. And Winchester,” she points, “I expect to hear a roar by the end of this semester, don’t you forget.” She disappears in a puff of purple smoke as ever student around her finds the exit.

Dean stays, slumped into himself, on his knees, chanting: ‘ _One-one-two, One-two-two, One-three-two, Out._ ’

* * *

“Why did we hang out at our dorm last time?” Charlie asks, looking around Dean’s suite from her perch on the couch, “This place is a _palace_! You can fit mine _and_ Jo’s entire room here!”

“Aw, it’s not that special…” Dean blushes, bringing the pizza over to everyone. He slides in between Charlie and Jo, dropping the box in the center table. Benny flips it open, and they all grab for their slices.

“Don’t be shy, Dean,” Benny says, “You lucked out. I mean – I’d _kill_ for a personal kitchen instead of relying on the communal one I gotta share with every other boy on my floor. Some days I just miss the smell of my momma’s gumbo…”

“You cook?”

“Hell yeah I cook!” Benny laughs, “You’re looking at the guy who revolutionized the vampire’s diet. I even wrote a cookbook.”

“No way,” Dean smiles, “That’s so awesome – I love to cook, too!”

“Get outta here.”

“Seriously,” Dean says, “I mean… I didn’t do anything great with it but… when Ma was busy saving the world I was making sure my brother and I were fed. Gave her one less thing to worry about.”

“We should swap some recipes,” Benny says, leaning forward, “I might have to fix it up a little – take out the parts that involve blood – but it’d be hella interesting.”

“Or, better idea,” Jo starts, “Why don’t you two just make your best meals – and then me and Charlie… _eat_.”

Dean pushes her away, shooting her a mean stink eye. She dissolves into a fit of giggles, pressed against Benny’s side. Charlie cackles alongside her, snorting into her pizza.

“I second that,” she says, “I mean, chowing down on food my _handmaidens_ have made for me is, like, 75% of my ultimate fantasy.”

“Hold on – handmaiden?” Dean asks her, “I don’t remember signing up for that.”

“You didn’t have to,” Charlie shrugs, “It was a non-verbal thing. By actively seeking me out and talking to me today, you have accepted the position as my friend and handmaiden.”

“So Benny and Jo,” Dean points to them, “They’re handmaidens?”

“No,” Charlie explains, “Only Benny is. _Jo_ is my knight.”

“How come Jo’s a knight!”

“Because I knew her first,” Jo shoves him, going for another slice, “Plus I have at least three things on her that can get her in trouble with the Dean – and only _one_ of them implicates me as well – so she knows better than to call _me_ handmaiden.”

“Fine,” Dean sighs, taking another bite of his pizza, “I _guess_ I can live with that…”

Behind them, the door opens, and they all turn as Castiel enters the room. He pauses, looking across the group before settling on Dean. “Hello,” he says, “I… wasn’t aware we were having guests?”

“Yeah,” Dean shrugs, “Figured after a long week we all could use a break,” He looks away, fiddling with his crust, “You can join us… if you’d like?”

“No, I’d hate to interrupt,” Castiel says, moving towards the stairs, “I’ll just be in my room –“

“You sure?” Dean tries again, “We have more than enough pizza.”

“I already ate,” Castiel says, retreating upstairs, “Goodnight.” They keep their eyes on the steps even when the other boy disappears from sight, and don’t make a sound until they hear the door firmly shut itself.

“Well that was a close one,” Benny whistled, “Don’t know why I thought he was gonna take the bait, though.”

“Beats me,” Jo shrugs, cramming her slice into her mouth, “I’m even amazed he didn’t just breeze by without a word.”

Dean turns to her, “He does that?”

“Castiel is…” Charlie fumbles, “Well… he can be very – very _focused_.”

“Focused?”

“That’s a good word for it,” Benny snorts, “Sometimes he just straight up ignores people. You could be hollerin’ over to him and he’d walk on by like nothin’ was happenin’.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t order us out,” Jo adds in, “Might ruin his quiet study time.” The group laughs, but Dean finds it very hard to chuckle. His attention lingers on the stairs, drawn to the mystery of Castiel.

“Hello? Earth to Dean?” Charlie shakes him, “You okay?”

“What?” he blinks, looking to his friends; he finishes off his crust and pulls himself out of the cozy pile towards the television. “Let’s put something on,” he says instead, “I’m pretty sure this thing’s got Netflix.”

It does.


	4. Slice of Life

_         Knock Knock Knock! _

Dean casts a tired glance towards the door, hair still sleep-ruffled from a long night of tossing and turning. He’d had trouble resting the night before – having to finish a report for Jody on the ‘Best & Worst Practices During Storm-Related Incidents’. It was a long one – to make up for the fact she couldn’t teach their class on Thursday. The teachers at the Academy were still very much active when it came to being heroes, and a real disaster had to coincide with their time in the Simulation room. Dean was surprised it happened this late, having a full month of classes before an incident arose.

So instead of going through the maneuvers, the entire class wrote five-pages on what they would and would not have done in the situation. And if Dean wanted to enjoy his weekend plans with friends, he’d need to finish the extra bit of work Jody assigned them the night before… along with every other assignment his teachers decided to dump on him.

Which explains why he passed out on the sofa instead of his bed.

There’s another set of knocks, breaking Dean from his musings. He waits a beat, hoping the visitor takes the hint. But when the person on the other side of the door shows no signs of leaving, rapping erratically on the other side, Dean musters enough extroversion to shuffle towards the door.

Gabriel stands outside, lollipop in mouth, fist raised to continue knocking.

“Can I help you?”

“Dean-o!” Gabriel cheers, “Glad to see you’re up – you’ve never looked more lovely…” He steps past Dean, eyeing the space greedily, “Really, Academy life _suits_ you.”

Dean spins him around before the shorter boy can get any further. “Gabriel,” he growls, “What are you doing here at the ass-crack of dawn?”

“Whoa, no need to get your panties in a twist, Winchester,” Gabriel says, shrugging Dean’s hands off him, “Just here dropping off a message for my roommate, the Vampire.”

Dean raises a brow, “Benny?” he asks, “Just what did he have to tell me that he couldn’t say through text.”

“He did text,” Gabriel smirks, “But you weren’t responding, so… ergo,” he points to himself, “Moi.”

He doesn’t believe the other boy. Instead, he moves over towards his phone, where it sits between his cooling mug of coffee and half-filled pot. When Dean checks it, over, he sees the five messages from Benny waiting for his response. He blanches at the sight, and even further once he reads the content.

“How is this even possible?”

“I know,” Gabriel says, rifling through Dean’s fridge, “Vampires are supposed to have superhuman immune systems – but looks like _no one_ is immune to the cafeteria’s mystery meat. Unless you happen to live in a _totally packed house_!” He pulls away with an open carton of milk in hand.

“Give,” Dean snatches it away before Gabriel can sip at it. He corrals the uninvited guest back into the hallway, “Alright, now that you’ve told me…?”

“Are you asking me to _leave_?”

“ _Asking’s_ a pretty loose way of sayin’ it,” Dean tells him. Gabriel makes a wounded sound, quickly transforming into a swan and collapsing to the floor. He then changes into an alligator, crying.

‘ _Okay even that’s too on the nose for me_ ,’ Dean thinks, walking away from the shapeshifter. After a good while of sad growling, he turns to him. “Don’t you have anything better than scratching up my floor?”

“I’m glad you asked Dean-O,” Gabriel quickly turns back to human, “I didn’t… but seeing your nice little _home away from school_ … I’ve got some ideas.” ‘ _That’s not a good sign_.’ “The DJ’s booth would go _there_ ,” he points to the area in front of the TV, “I’ve got a guy who can help us set up some kegs over _there_ ,” by the pantry, “And the _guest list_? Dean… you and I will be _swimming_ in chicks this evening.”

“Whoa, what?!?” Dean yelps, stepping away from Gabriel, “I don’t – why are you – that’s not… that’s not gonna happen!”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Dean, my man,” Gabriel starts, “With this nice pad and your genes – seriously how can someone’s face be so symmetrical – you can have your pick of any girl.”

“Gabe, seriously, it’s not – you can’t – they won’t,” Dean’s stuttering, his mind going too fast for any word to properly form a good argument. Besides that, any chance gets immediately steamrolled by Gabriel as he whirls around the room, planning everything out.

“This is gonna be the best night of your life,” Gabriel continues, “You’ll become king of this school in no time –“

“Gabriel, what are you doing in my house?”

Both of them look to where Castiel stands, at the foot of the stairs, glaring at the golden haired boy. Gabriel sheepishly takes a step back. “Cassie!” he chirps, “I didn’t – is this… is this your house?” He smacks a hand to his cheek, “Well gee-golly-gosh I had _nooooo_ idea!” slapping Dean, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Before he could respond, Castiel had already made his way over. “There will be no parties today, tomorrow, or any other day – do I make myself clear?” His eyes glow distractingly, stirring something deep within Dean’s stomach.

“Loud and clear, spoilsport,” Gabriel grumbles, chewing on his finished lollipop stick. Castiel turns his lit gaze from him to Dean.

“Wait – me?” he splutters, “I didn’t want the party either!”

“Sure, Dean,” Castiel says, voice laden with an icy sarcasm his fiery gaze didn’t belay, “Lucky I came down when I did, then. If you two will excuse me, I’ll return to my studies.” He spins on his heel and exits, leaving both boys gobsmacked.

“I knew things were too good to be true,” Gabriel sighs, “But rooming with Mr. Sunshine up there? How you haven’t gone mad yet I’ll never know.”

“I got thick skin,” Dean mumbles, still distracted by Castiel’s appearance. He breaks from his trance and looks to Gabriel. “You two got history?” he asks, “This is the first time I’ve seen him show more than a hint of emotion.” Which, in the month that Dean’s been living there, is depressing. The only times they talk are in the seconds Castiel slips through the front door and up to his room.

He’s not even sure Castiel _eats_.

“Maybe,” Gabriel sings, “I mean… it’s not like I _did_ anything to the kid. I tried being his friend – y’know. He looked kind of sad and alone the first few days – and you’d think as Archangel’s little brother he’d be raking it all in, abusing his privilege. I mean… _I_ would. But all he did was sit in the library or in his house. Me and Balth tried to take him out one night in town, but that was a load of bull. Verbally tore us a new one _and_ got our little supply of… _oregano_ confiscated. Decided that was enough of that – I ain’t the patron saint of lost causes,” he starts towards the door, “And neither should you, Dean. Don’t feel so bad he isn’t jumping to be pals. Some kids just aren’t wired for that.” Gabriel pauses, smiling, “Since Benny cancelled… you can always meet me, Balth, and Crowley in town? Four’s a good number… and I’m sure being Hunter’s kid you can get us into a few good places –“

“Goodbye, Gabriel,” Dean sighs; kneading the space between his brows.

He shrugs, “Worth a shot.”

The door closes, echoing in the large, silent space.

* * *

“…so he tells me that if I could hit the apple off his head, eyes closed, back turned – he’d do _all_ my Trigonometry homework for the rest of the semester,” Jo tells them, sipping at her milkshake, Charlie and Dean captivated, “And of course I agree because less homework means more time to myself. Anyway, we get set-up, him up against a wall and me with one of my _many_ knives in hand. I’m doing this whole fake-out thing, really playing it up for the crowd. But when I do throw it, no one sees it coming – _especially_ Gordon.”

“What happened next?” Dean asks, playing with the half-chewed straw, his milkshake half-melted.

“I hit the apple obviously,” Jo shrugs, smirking “But the best part was _after_. Apparently, Gordon was so scared he accidentally goop-ed, and we had to call over the Creepy Janitor to help pry his hands from off the wall!” They’re laughing now, Jo wiping a tear from her eye. “The look on his face… I’m sure Mick or Victor got a good picture of it.”

“And now he has to do your Trig homework?”

“Hell yeah,” Jo says, “Which means one less class to worry about.”

“You say that,” Charlie starts, “But did you know this is Gordon’s _second_ time taking Trig?”

“What?”

“Yeah,” she continues, slurping up the remains of her drink, “Failed _pretty_ bad last year… I remember, since I was in his class. Not sure if he ever improved but… hey, maybe he got a tutor over summer?”

Jo groans, thumping her face onto the table. “Well there goes that,” she says. Dean pats her on the back awkwardly, surveying the room – making sure no one was too focused on her outburst.

The diner’s patrons were instead busy with their own meals, thankfully. In fact, no one had paid the three of them much mind since entering town. Even with Benny holed up in his room on quarantine, the others still continued with their plans.

Charlie needed to grab a few pieces of tech for a project she was working on while Jo wanted to use some of the money her mom sent her to treat herself to some new clothes. And Dean? After his weekly phone call with Mary and Sam Wednesday night, he had felt a little homesick, and figured some apple pie would cheer him up.

But they still had a lot of time before the bus back to school left – and Dean missed the grease that came from a good diner burger. It didn’t take much to convince the others.

“Anyway, you’ll be glad you did your own homework anyway,” Charlie shrugs, biting into her wrap, “Math is all about repetition. Even if Gordon did well on your homework it’d still be _you_ taking the test.”

“You’ve already burst my bubble, stop stomping on its remains,” Jo says, glaring at the redhead. Charlie smirks, challenging Jo to disagree with her. The staring contest ends with Jo backing down, hiding behind her burger. “Alright, then,” she sneers, taking a huge bite of her food, “Wha’ happ’n’d wif’ your weeks?”

“Nothing really,” Charlie tells them, “Probably the high point was when Dorothy asked me for my notes after Heronomics.”

“Dorothy?” Dean asks, “What happened to Gilda?”

“Ask Balthazar,” the redhead grumbles, “Apparently Gilda and he are in an ‘open’ relationship. I heard that fairies were _flighty_ and liked to party… but I thought we _had_ something, y’know?”

“Charlie, the girl’s always late to class and never hands her homework in on time,” Jo smirks, “She’s the definition of _flighty_.”

“Anyway enough about my rollercoaster love life,” Charlie steers the conversation away from her, putting Dean onto oncoming traffic, “Dean? Anything interesting happen to you – any _crazy_ stories you been holding out on us?”

“No, nothing going on in my life,” Dean tells them, picking at his fries, “Between classes and homework and hanging out with you guys, there’s not much time for me to do anything else –“

“Well, we’ll have to change that, won’t we?”

A brunette girl in a low-cut top and dark jeans slips in next to Charlie, pushing her into the far end of the booth. She watches Dean like a cat follows a laser – the metaphor only furthered by how her tail swings back and forth.

“Bela,” Jo glares at the other girl, “Didn’t they tell you _pets_ aren’t allowed inside?”

“Bite me, Harvelle,” Bela bares her fangs, “I wasn’t talking to _you_ anyway… I was just chatting up your very _handsome_ , very _misguided_ friend.”

“M-misguided?” Dean stutters, blushing as Bela traces a manicured claw over his hand.

“Why of course,” she smirks, “I mean, why else would you hang around with people below our… _caliber._ ”

“Hey!” Jo slams her fist onto the table, “You got some nerve coming over here and –“

“Jo – Jo!” Charlie calms her, “Please, we’ve already been kicked out of enough places, and I actually kind of like this one.” She turns on Bela, “Could you just get on with whatever cheesy line you’re going to say so we can finish our lunch in peace?”

“Tut tut, Bradbury,” Bela chastises, booping her on the nose, “It’s not nice to rush a lady. But because I’m feeling _charitable_ ,” she stands, sliding her hand up Dean’s arm and onto his shoulder, “I’ll let _you_ come to _me_. Always been a fan of playing… _cat and mouse_.” She purrs, “Bye Dean,” walking back towards her friends and out the door.

“God I hate her,” Jo says, tearing into her burger like a rabid animal, “She’s always been on our case, ever since freshman year.”

“Well if you didn’t make ‘furry’ jokes ever five seconds we were around her, maybe she wouldn’t have painted targets on our backs!”

“Like that made her any less of a bitch –“

“Who was,” Dean swallows around the knot in his throat, “Who was that?”

“Bela Talbot, cat person –“

“More like cat _burglar_ ,” Jo calls out, “You know the only reason I started those jokes was because she took my science project and got an A while I got a D-minus with my back-up!”

“We have bad blood,” Charlie finishes, “She’s _not_ a good person.”

“Yeah,” Jo huffs, turning on Dean, “So don’t you be getting any ideas, mister.”

“What?”

“Oh don’t ‘what’ us, Dean,” Jo pokes him, “We saw how you were acting. I don’t want to find any cat hairs on you, they get everywhere –“

“No, no, trust me I was _not_ interested,” Dean shakes his head, “I’m like… super allergic to cats, anyway and besides she’s not my type.”

Jo rolls her eyes, “Sure.”

“No, really,” Dean continues, heat rising up his neck, “I mean, she’s got confidence and a killer rack – I’ll give her that – but she’s mean. Beauty can’t hide the beast inside… or somethin’”

“Aww, Dean, that was so sweet,” Charlie smiles, patting his hand, “So sweet I’m gonna allow that awful pun.”

“Alright… but I’m watching you,” Jo warns, “Any girl that catches your eye needs the seal of approval from _us_ ,” she jerks her thumb between the two of them, “Ain’t nothing you gonna be hiding from us, buddy.” Dean’s stomach drops, bungeeing up and down, suspended over a wide chasm. Thoughts of tanned skin, a deep voice and blue eyes flashes almost immediately before he tamps them down.

“Okay,” Dean laughs awkwardly, focusing on the rest of his meal, “Anyway… let’s get this finished up. I saw a place nearby that makes food using blood? Thought we’d bring some over for Benny…”

* * *

Baking pies never failed to calm his nerves. Kneading the dough, making the filing, pressing the crust – every task allowed Dean to fall into muscle memory and let go of his thoughts. It was something his therapist suggested he do, once the nightmares started getting _too_ bad. In the beginning, Mary would wake up to find their counter littered with all different flavored pies. Now Dean has at least mastered moderation in his baking skills.

Still, some nights he found it easier to bake than to sleep.

He’s watching as his latest creation cools nearby, a glass of water nestled between his hands. The aroma wafts over, pulling memories from deep within that warm his heart. Of days in the kitchen with Mary practicing, where in a short time he had surpassed all she had known about making pies. Times they’d all gather as a family and eat straight out of the tin, he and Sammy fighting over who’d get the last piece before John snuck in and grabbed it for himself. How a few nights after the fire, Sammy latched onto his back and cried as he’d been rolling the dough.

‘ _Pies might not be home_ ,’ he smiles, ‘ _But they’re close enough_.’

Castiel walks in through the front door, stirring Dean from his musings. They stare at the other. “Hey,” Dean says, voice rough from disuse, “Didn’t know you were out.”

“Yes, well,” Castiel says, “Didn’t think you’d still be up.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Dean shrugs, turning back to his pie, “Thought I’d get a head start on my pies.”

“You… bake?”

“Yeah,” Dean smiles, “Figured with fall around the corner, pumpkin pie might be nice to have. Pair that with some cider I brought in from town… it’ll be real nice.”

“Oh, I see,” Castiel waits a beat, “Well then, I’m sorry to have disturbed you –“

“You ain’t done nothing wrong Cas, this is your house, too,” Dean stands, stretching. He finds Castiel still there, examining him with tilted head. It’s the longest either of them has been around each other outside of class, and Dean doesn’t want it to end so soon. “It’s almost ready,” Dean offers, “I can cut you a piece?”

“Uh, no, really,” Castiel mumbles, “You don’t have to –“

“Consider it a late night snack,” Dean shrugs, already moving around to get a plate set up, “I doubt you’re going back up to _sleep_. It’ll help get you through whatever else you have left to study.” He brings it over to Castiel, holding the slice out. Castiel blinks at it before trailing his eyes back up to Dean’s.

“Um, thank you,” Castiel takes it. He turns, ready to leave, only to pause once more. He looks back at Dean, “You – uh… you called me… Cas?”

Dean blanches, scratching at his neck. “Oh – uh… sorry? I didn’t – if you aren’t a nickname kind of guy I can –“

“It’s… okay,” Castiel smirks, “No one’s ever given me a nickname I actually _liked_.” He starts back up the stairs, “Good night Dean.”

“…Night, Cas.”

Baking pies has never failed to calm his nerves… until tonight.


	5. One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

The Academy’s garage is spacious – able to fit three jets side-by-side with room to spare. Along with these, there are rows upon rows of cars, motorcycles, helicopters, and other vehicles. One in particular catches Dean’s eye – a sleek, red number he remembers as the car John and Bobby used to chase down the Alpha. It calls to him, like a siren: begging him to check under the hood. Before he can take a step, however, Ms. Hanscum draws his and everyone else’s attention to her.

“Howdy folks,” she chirps, “Y’all are probably wonderin’ why we’ve changed locations for the day. Well… I figured how good sports y’all were with the personal finance section; I’d give you a bit of a treat. So for the next two weeks, we’ll be tackling the automotive care part of the semester.” Dean lets out a whoop – the only one of his classmates to do so. He wilts under the sudden attention. “That’s the spirit!” Ms. Hanscum says, “Now… today I want everyone to move towards an engine, and we can begin…”

Dean finds a nice spot near the back, joined soon enough by Benny. The vampire sneers at the sight, fangs peeking from under his upper lip. He knows about his friend’s disdain for oil, dirt, and grime – something they bonded over in the first few days of friendship, after chiding Jo and Charlie on the state of their dorm. However, when it comes to all things automotive, Dean’s germaphobia takes a back seat.

Cars were one of the first things he and John shared together. When Mary was too busy taking care of Sam, John had set Dean up on a small bench while elbow-deep under Baby’s hood. The first few times he did this, the curious little toddler that Dean was would pepper the silence between wrench turns and grunts with questions about what John was doing. After the third day of answering the never-ending supply, John had picked Dean up by the waist and bent him inwards, pointing out each piece and explaining what it did.

After that, Dean rarely sat on the bench.

Repairing cars had then become a John-and-Dean thing, taking on odd jobs from Bobby when Baby decided to run smooth for long periods of time. Sam could never understand the beauty of cars, so left the other Winchester men to their hobby. Dean was secretly glad, the selfish glee of being part of a world where he didn’t have to share John for hours on end.

But that all burned the day of the fire, and Dean didn’t look at Baby for a year.

Shaking away the burnt edges of dark thoughts, he tries to pay attention to Ms. Hanscum. His attention starts to drift once more, noticing how detailed she’s being with different pieces of the puzzle Dean’s already familiar with. Instead, he lets his hands tinker, and his eyes wander.

Half the class seems to pay attention the way most crowds do when someone demands notice – with glazed eyes, taking in all the words only for most of them to leak out the minute their heads turn elsewhere. The other half seems to be lost in their own little worlds, the same as Dean is.

The twin menaces, Ed & Harry, mess around with the tools from behind the engines. With the powers of perfect reflexes and timing, respectively, they mastered the art of goofing off under the inattentive gaze of teachers. They can’t escape the watchful gaze of Victor, fuming silently from behind them. His eyes are tinged red, barely holding back the fury of his laser vision. On the other side of the room, Crowley fares worse than Benny. The stout boy glares straight ahead, removed entirely from the engine beside him and Ms. Hanscum’s lesson. At least Benny tries to maintain a positive attitude.

And near the front of the room sits the shining sun that’s been at the center of Dean’s revolving world.

Castiel’s face is creased with a frown; head tilted at the engine in what Dean’s come to understand is the boy’s investigative expression. His hands twitch at the tools, passing over each one – unsure of what to pick up first. It might be the first time he’s seen Castiel at a loss.

‘ _Must be a scary feeling for him_ …’ Ever since that night two weeks ago, the other boy has softened towards Dean. Instead of passing by without a word, he’d make an effort to greet him. Once he even asked after Dean’s day. He was so shocked, Castiel nearly escaped before Dean could answer! ‘ _Figures all it took was a good pie_ ,’ Dean grins to himself, ‘ _I’ll warm up to Cas one slice at a time_.’ The thought suddenly spirals into fantasy. Of him cozying beside Castiel, a plate of steaming hot cherry pie in one hand and a forkful of the pastry in the other, bringing it closer and closer to chapped lips. The fantasy really revs his motor.

_vooRRRR, vooRRR, vooRRR_

Once more, Dean captures the room’s attention. He jumps away as the engine comes to life in front of him. In his distraction, Dean managed to fix the problem that was supposed to keep them all busy for the period.

“Well, looks like we have a ringer,” Ms. Hanscum smiles, “Not surprised seeing as how John designed half a’ these things…” Her eyes light up, “Say, since you’re done, why don’t you be my aide for the day?” He doesn’t have a chance to answer before she chugs along, “I think I’ve explained enough to get y’all started – if you run into any speed bumps, just ask either me or Mr. Winchester.”

She claps for them to start, the resigned grumbling mixing with the still revving engine in front of Dean. He tries to get her attention, but Ms. Hanscum waves off his concern (“You’ve got this – don’t worry”). So Dean resigns himself to sitting at his station, head down, hoping no one calls on him for help.

This works for a good five minutes.

“Dean?” He whips his head up, locking eyes with Castiel. The other boy stands a few inches away, hands at his sides. His usual pristine appearance has been tainted by the day’s task – Dean notices his oil-stained fingertips and crumpled-up sleeves high on his elbows. Even his usual mess of hair looks more disheveled then usual. “I – uh… I seem to be having difficulty with…” he points to his engine, “ _this_.”

“Something _you_ ain’t good at?” Dean starts, “I don’t believe it.”

Castiel turns away, frowning. “I mean,” Castiel says, “I can handle it if you’re _busy_ –“

“No, wait – _shit_ ,” Dean stands, sheepish, “You don’t… yeah, let me take a look.” Castiel leads him away to his area, where his engine _drip drip drips_ oil. There’s a small leak off the back that’s pooled on a nearby corner before waterfalling off the edge. He raises a brow at the scene.

“I… I’m not sure where I went wrong,” Castiel admits, “I was following Ms. Hanscum’s instructions and seem to have…”

“Gone down a dead end?” Dean smirks, inspecting the hunk of metal more thoroughly, “Don’t worry, I’m sure I can get you back on track.” He moves to grab a wrench, but feels a hand grab at his shoulder. Castiel smiles down at him, “Thank you, Dean.” He doesn’t respond – thrown off course by a flash of brilliant teeth and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners. Dean comes to with Castiel staring at his shoulder, hand back at his side.

“What?” Dean looks at where an oil-stain shaped like a handprint lays on his white shirtsleeve.

“My apologies,” Castiel says, “I seem to have –“

“It’s no problem, Cas,” Dean turns towards the engine, speaking into the machinery, hiding his steamy blush, “I’ve had worse stains on clothes that mean more to me – I can get this out _easy_.”

“You’re used to getting oil on you?”

“When you grow up with your face buried in either an oven or a car, you get pretty good at cleaning,” Dean admits, “While other kids were trading Pokemon I was with their moms telling them how club soda and lemon juice works wonders on grass.”

“…You were?”

“No,” Dean admits, looking away from where he was tinkering on Castiel’s engine, heart more in control of itself, “Just an… exaggeration.”

“Ah, I see,” Castiel leans past Dean to check his work, “So… my error?” Even with the overpowering stench of grease, Dean can still catch whiffs of the other boy’s body wash – sending his controls into haywire.

“You – you got, I mean – what I did, well…” he runs an oil-slick hand through his hair, grimacing at the feel of it sluicing down and staining his already dirty-blond hair, “Whatever you were going to do next you can do it, I patched it up. If you can – if you’ll… I see someone else who needs help.” Castiel tries to stop him, but Dean brushes him off and runs away.

He takes a wide trek around the room, stopping at the other side where a row of towels hangs. Dean pulls one down and wipes at his head, only smearing more of it around. ‘ _Good going, Winchester_ ,’ he thinks, ‘ _What happened to ‘one slice at a time’?’_

“Feeling okay, Winchester?”

Dean drags the towel down, the oil now making him look like a sad clown without waterproof mascara, to find Arthur Ketch standing nearby. He frowns, anxiety quickly bubbling over into irritation.

Ketch and he weren’t on good terms. Maybe because on the first day in the simulation room, Dean accidentally sent him tumbling into a crevice from the example earthquake – ‘ _not my fault he was invisible_ ’. Or because Ketch had tried to convince him to send Mary a bunch of his collectibles for autographs, which Dean had responded by laughing in his face. Either way, the fruit borne from their interactions was sour.

“I’m good,” he mutters, “Or should I say ‘randy’ to make you feel more comfortable?” ‘ _How many British kids do we even have here anyway,_ ’ he thinks, ‘ _I mean when they said ‘international students’ I didn’t think it was going to be ninety-five percent England and three kids from everywhere else._ ’

“Nothing _you_ could ever do would make me feel comfortable, Dean,” Ketch smirks, “Although this new look you’re sporting – it does make me feel a bit _jolly_.”

“Listen,” Dean sighs, “what do you want?”

“Well you are the aide for the day,” Ketch leans close to him, whispering, “And since Ms. Hanscum made it clear you are to help _any_ student… I was wondering if you could take a peek at my engine?” Dean crushes the towel in his grip, breathing out from his nose, trying to tamp down the urge to tell Ketch where he could stick his engine.

“Sure,” he grits, “I’d be happy to.” The other boy claps, swinging an arm around Dean and leading him towards his station. He tries tuning out Ketch’s prattling, but no matter what he does his words break through. It doesn’t help his focus deteriorates the longer he’s stuck fixing Ketch’s engine.

“Will you shut up?” Dean turns, “Your engine is a goddamn mess, and I can’t concentrate!”

Ketch glares at him. “Can’t fix my engine, Winchester?” he scoffs, “Maybe you aren’t like _Daddy_ after all.”

There are only a few things that he hears past the ringing in his ears: the clatter of tools hitting the floor, a strangled yelp, and Ms. Hanscum’s voice.  He’s shaken out of his stupor almost immediately by the blowback of their teacher’s force field. Ketch falls to his feet and grabs where Dean’s hands just were, while Dean lands on his back, the wind knocked out of him. When he comes to, he’s staring up at Ms. Hanscum’s disappointed face.

“Mr. Winchester, I don’t appreciate rough-housing in my classroom,” she tells him, “I’m sorry, but you’ll be heading towards the detention room later this afternoon.”

“Detention!” Ketch whines from nearby, “He could have seriously injured me –“

“Enough,” she shuts him down, “We only have a few minutes left… but I think it’s safe to call it over for today. We’ll be back here for the next week or so, okay?” Kids file out of the room, and Ketch glares at Dean until he turns the corner, muttering loudly about him and ‘special treatment’. Hanscum hands Dean a slip while shaking her head at him before she too walks out.

He can’t say anything – the black ball of tar wedged tight in his throat.

“That sure was something,” Benny says, pulling him up, “What did he say that got y’all riled up?”

Dean tries to explain. But then he catches Castiel’s eye – his face an all-too familiar mask of nothing – and the words stay where they are, buried within.

Benny doesn’t pry any further.

* * *

Out of all the fantastical sights around the Academy’s grounds, Dean is surprised to find that the detention room is an average classroom. It’s not spacious in the least, but seriously differs from the stark white walls he envisioned.

“Mr. Winchester,” Mr. Shurley greets him, “I heard from Donna you’d be here but… still a surprise, even for _me_.” Dean wilts under his stare.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, tightening his grip on his bag straps. He holds the slip from earlier for Shurley to take. He does so, reading Miss Hanscum’s neat scrawl.

“Not gonna lie, Ketch probably deserved whatever it was you were going to give him,” he smirks, “Between you and me, he’s a pompous little ass.” Dean blanches at the teasing tone the older man takes.

“Umm… should you be saying that about another student?” Dean asks, “…Sir?”

“Probably not… but I won’t get in trouble here,” he chuckles, “Room is soundproof. Why don’t you take a seat, this won’t be long. In an hour you’ll be out like nothing happened.” Mr. Shurley returns to his book, waving Dean off to fend for himself.

He spies a few familiar faces in the room. Crowley sits next to Balthazar, each wrapped within their little bubble. Gabriel listens as they discuss, chomping away on a Twizzler. On the other side of the room, Claire and her friends sit miserably in a small huddle. Dean steers clear of them, scared of the younger, blonde girl. He’d stumbled into the gym during her year’s Beginner’s Combat & Danger class, putting a hulking, lizard-like kid into an impossible headlock.

Their eyes caught one another, and he’d never felt so unsafe before.

The only option left is in the center of the room, at a seat in front of another group of dangerous girls. ‘ _At least I know how to handle these ones_ ,’ Dean thinks as he sits in front of Bela, ignoring her predatory smirk.

“Dean,” she purrs, “Fancy meeting up here? I never took you for a _bad boy_.”

“’M not,” he mutters, digging around for a notebook, “Just… one time thing.”

Bela doesn’t back away, taking his silence as initiative. “Now, if you wanted to see me so badly, we could have arranged other circumstances,” she continues, “Maybe found a nice, little room… light some candles and add rose petals… I wouldn’t be offended if you brought _oils_ –“ Dean flushes at the suggestion, her friends’ snickering grating his ears.

Meg, with pale blonde curls, watches Dean from his right, while Ruby and her jet black ponytail takes up guard from the left.

“Can you leave me alone, please,” Dean says, “I just want to get this over with.”

“Now, now, Dean,” Bela trails a claw across his neck, “No girl wants to hear _that_. Might give her the wrong idea… make her… _upset_.” She applies pressure, startling Dean when he feels her nail sink right past his skin. He gasps, whipping around. Her nail still has some of his blood on it. Dean stares, transfixed at the rare sight.

“How did…” he gropes at his neck, feeling for the small cut. He pulls back to find a tiny splattering of blood on his hand. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything, Dean,” Bela smirks, leaning back, “Didn’t anyone tell you about the detention room?”

“Probably not,” Ruby says, “Didn’t think ‘the Prodigal Son’ here would ever wind up in this snooze-fest.”

“Hey!”

“This room suppresses superpowers,” Meg tells him, “That’s the real punishment, and why every other rule in detention is pretty lax.”

“What the…” Dean shakes his head, “Who even comes up with this stuff?”

“Dear ol’ Chuck,” Bela nods at the teacher, still lost in his book, “I heard the idea came to him in a _vision_. But any time someone asks what he saw, he never gives a clear answer.”

“Isn’t that just like a psychic though,” Ruby huffs, “All mystery and crap. Thank God we’ve only got one of those _freaks_ here.”

“What did you say?” Dean frowns, hackles rising, “Psychics aren’t _freaks_.”

“Course they are,” Bela shrugs, “Able to get in your mind, know things that they shouldn’t, cause serious trouble – rotten apples of the bunch if you ask me.”

Dean bites his cheek, willing any type of self-restraint to appear this time. Unfortunately, he’s used to reigning in his temper in _these_ situations. Years of dealing with people who looked at Sam strangely after his powers emerged. Fighting off bullies who picked on him, thinking he ‘messed with their minds’.  Defending his actions to adults who always ended up blaming Sam in the end – as if he had started anything.

“Look,” Dean starts, repeating an old script he learned from his therapist, “I don’t appreciate your views on this matter. I’m disengaging from this conversation, and please don’t try and talk to me again.” He turns back around, disregarding any attempts by Bela to try and salvage the shipwreck of their little talk.

“What crawled up his ass and died?” Ruby asks, low in a way that only her friends and Dean, the pierced figure at the end of her barbed comment, can hear.

“I don’t know,” Bela says, “Figures pretty boy is seriously messed up though. From what I hear from around school, he’s a real _loon_.”

The seconds eke by, with Dean counting them down: ‘ _One-one-two, One-two-two, One-three-two, Out._ ’

* * *

“-Ma no, you don’t… look, really it was nothing. …I don’t care what she said, it was _nothing_. …What did _he_ say? Just something stupid… and I – I lost my temper y’know. …Yeah, yeah, I know I – I remember. …No! You do _not_ have to come over here,” Dean throws open the door to his house, eyes nearly lost at the back of his skull, “Look, I know you’re concerned and all but I’m sure you have loads of other things you’d rather do then drive all the way here. …No, I know you could easily get a jet but still, you don’t have to make the… flight?” There’s rustling from upstairs, Dean catching the tail end of voices, slowly making their way closer. “Listen, Ma, I’m gonna have to go – no, I’m not _running_ I have,” he changes into a whisper, the voices getting closer, “I have _guests_. I’ll call you at the usual time, okay? Love you, and tell Sammy I miss him. Bye!” He hangs up just as Michael and Castiel make their way to the foot of the stairs.

The raven-haired Novaks cut their words short, watching as Dean pockets his cell phone.

“Dean,” Michael starts, stepping forward, “So glad to see you. I wasn’t sure you’d make it back in time seeing as you were in, well…” he smirks, “I think we all know where.”

“Yeah, apparently that was all anyone’s talking about,” Dean mumbles, looking away.

“Anyway,” Michael turns to Castiel, clapping him roughly on the shoulder, “Castiel, I _do_ hope you consider my offer – I’m sure it would be a great opportunity for not just you but the proud legacy of the Novaks!” His watch rings, flashing red. Michael sighs, shutting the device off easily. “Always at the worst times,” he shakes his head, “Must be off – saving the world and all that jazz.” He looks to Dean, “Sorry we couldn’t have more time to chat, you’ve been here for so long and yet I feel like I _don’t know you_.”

He grins toothily, holding his hand out for Dean to shake. Dean takes it, grimacing politely. Slimy ooze drips its way down Dean’s spine, and he feels a burning pressure at the base of his skull. Michael’s grip tightens at the pain’s apex, only for it all to disappear as he steps away.

“I really should be going,” he moves towards the door, “Don’t have too much fun in here, you crazy kids.” He leaves in the space between Dean’s blinks, trying to regain his bearings.

“Well that was something,” Dean says, turning to Castiel, “Say, what was he talking – about…?”

The other boy has disappeared back to his room, leaving both the room and Dean feeling empty.


	6. Lockdown

Dean squints against the glare of the setting sun, cursing himself for forgetting his sunglasses on his desk. Beside him, Benny fares no better. Jo and Charlie, however, have come prepared – with Jo tucking her baseball cap down further on her head and Charlie grinning behind her green-tinted shades.

“-it was so great, you should have seen me!” Charlie tells them, skipping ahead “I was zipping all around I was _unstoppable_. Even Miss Mills gave me a shout out!” She turns around and huffs, “I wish we were in the same class.”

Jo rolls her eyes, “But if we were, how could regale us with your many wondrous exploits?”

Charlie considers this for a beat before giggling, “I guess you’re right. Besides, I don’t know how you’d all manage a 24-hour dose of your favorite redhead.”

“We’d go into a diabetic shock, that’s what,” Benny grouses, “How can you still have all this energy after the major study session we just went through?”

“It’s all metabolic my fang-tastic friend,” Charlie starts, “I’d go into more detail if I didn’t think your brains would burst with all the knowledge we just crammed in there.” The others groan wearily, acknowledging the sheer amount of work they’ve just put in. They all put it off until Sunday, with the weight of their collective worries dragging them down into a pitfall of anxiety.

Dean had let the others convince him easily that everything he needed done by Monday could wait. Come Sunday morning, he was facing down a metaphorical mountain. Beside the usual troubling amount of work from LaMort, Dean also had papers due in usually assignment-free classes. Rowena got into a row with Crowley in their last class, and because of his ‘bad attitude’, the entire class had to analyze the themes in ‘Twelfth Night’ in seven pages. And on top of that, Mr. Shurley wanted them to do a ten-page report on one of the three major crises faced down by modern-day heroes and the resulting aftermath. Now, his fingers feel numb and heavy in his pockets – and he’s pretty sure there’s blood on the ‘delete’ button after he rubbed his pinkie raw pressing it too many damned times.

But it was all finished. Now, they could relax.

‘ _Well,_ ’ he thinks, ‘ _I can try_.’ After cresting up the hill towards his suite, thoughts from earlier return with vengeance. And with nothing to distract them, they stomp around on cleats, forcing Dean to address them.

After his little… _disagreement_ , with Ketch in Life Skills, he and Castiel fell back to Square One. Dean tries to engage him – smile, wave, start small conversations – but the other boy gives him a familiar brush off. It hit him hard, and sent his mind on a spiraling rollercoaster, where the tracks hang unfinished.

“So,” Benny says, drawing him from the Rollercoaster Tycoon in his head, “What do ya wanna do with the rest of our day?”

“Maybe we can talk costumes!” Charlie suggests, “Halloween is just around the corner – and we all know Gabe’s party is coming up.”

“Ugh,” Jo sighs, “Do we have to go? Last time they dressed in robes –“

“I don’t see why that’s wrong –“

“ _Just_ robes,” Jo tells him, “I got more than a glimpse of Gabriel than I ever wanted in my life when he and Kali were getting too friendly by the keg.”

“Gross,” Dean frowns, “I’m surprised you’re not blind.”

Jo shoots him a serious look and shrugs, “Luck.”

“Either way,” Charlie butts in between them, “I want to go. I love dressing up, and you people never take me anywhere that lets me rock my chainmail.”

“Chainmail?” Dean asks.

They all turn to look at him: Charlie with manic glee, and Benny and Jo with fearful apprehension. “Yes chainmail,” the redheaded speedster says, “Of my impeccably crafted armor fit for the Queen of Moondoor aka yours truly. It’s all part of my LARPing, but being here keeps me from my kingdom, and I rarely get a chance to use it. I’ve tried to organize a club on campus, but every time I suggest it Rowena shoots it down –“

Jo leans over to Benny, “For good reason.”

“Shove it!” she whirls on them, “Everyone here would love it if they gave it a chance!”

“Alright, calm down cher,” Benny reels her in, a hand on her shoulder, “No need rehashing this ol’ fight again. Besides, look at Dean, you’re frightenin’ him.” Everyone sets their eyes on Dean, and he blushes under their scrutiny. His face _might_ have fallen in bewildered awe, but who was Benny to call him out on it?

“Whatever,” Dean grumbles, pushing his way into the suite, “Just trying to follow what Charlie’s saying. What even is LARP?”

“Live action role playing.”

“Like Dungeons & Dragons?” Dean asks.

“Only better!” Charlie shouts, “Because it’s outdoors and you get to move around and boss people around and swing heavy wooden swords and light plastic ones and –“

“I need a drink,” Jo sighs, shuffling into the kitchen area, “You have anything stronger than _root_ beer in this thing?”

“Afraid not,” Dean says, moving towards the stairs, “Don’t get too comfy anyways, just need to put my stuff down and we can head over to – _woah!_ ”

He jumps back down a step, staring up at Castiel where he stands before him. The other boy refuses to meet his eye, instead looking out at the gathered crowd in the living room.

“Hey Cas,” Dean tries, smiling, “You heading out?”

“Yes, I was,” Castiel says, frowning, still not looking at him, “To the library. If you’ll excuse me –“

_WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!_

They all jump. Charlie slams into Benny, while Jo drops her bottle on the floor, cursing up a storm. Castiel slips and nearly falls, grabbing at Dean’s wrist for balance. The added weight doesn’t addle him, and Dean helps him find his footing.

“What’s that?” Dean asks over the loud din of the alarm. Castiel scrunches his nose up and scurries down the rest of the stairs, towards the door. He opens a little panel and types in a code, halting the alarm. Dean follows, at the front of the gathered group.

“Warning, Code Level Gamma Threat,” a female robotic voice plays overhead, “All students please remain where you are. We apologize for any inconvenience, and only think about your safety – we will alert you to any changes in threat level in the meantime.” The voice cuts out, replaced by a chorus of groans from the assembled.

“I don’t get it,” Dean asks, “What’s going on?”

“Lockdown, buddy,” Benny says, “As of now, we ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

“What?”

“It’s a safety measure,” Castiel explains, finally turning towards him, “When there’s a threat on campus or all the faculty is called away, we’re kept in our dorms until the crisis is averted.”

“Usually means classes are cancelled the following day, too,” Charlie sighs, “Which means we _wasted_ our afternoon.” Jo slaps her on the back of her head.

“So we just gotta… we gotta wait?”

“It appears so,” Castiel sighs, moving back towards the stairs, “Hopefully the League will handle this rapidly.” He disappears up the stairs once more.

“Such a nice host,” Jo says, “Don’t know why he doesn’t work hospitality.”

“Be nice, Jo,” Benny tells her, “We’re in _his_ house after all.”

“Whatever.”

“Anyway,” Dean fiddles with his sleeves, looking towards the TV, “Should we… watch something?”

The others look around at each other before shrugging. “Sure,” Charlie says, “Not like we have anywhere to be.”

They pile onto the sofa and queue up Netflix, ready to unwind for their time in lockdown.

* * *

 

“When are you going to be _doooooone_?”

“A few more minutes, Jo, cool it,” Dean glares at her, “Seriously, how has your mom _not_ killed you yet?”

“Because she’s made of tougher stuff,” she fires back, “Now stop yapping and keep cooking!”

Dean gives her one last stink eye before turning back to his dish. Benny stifles his laughter, focusing very heavily on his gumbo. He and Dean were on kitchen duty after the second movie proved the lockdown had no end in sight. While Charlie and Jo did their best to help by chopping and making jokes, they tapped out to let the true masters have full control.

“This is the life Jo,” Charlie relaxes into her seat at the table, “I swear Dean, Benny, if only I was straight – then I’d make an honest man out of one of you!”

“You’re really oozing the charm, Bradbury,” Dean says, eyes rolling, “You say that to anyone who cooks you food?”

“No,” she says, “I happen to _respect_ our lunch ladies.” Benny guffaws, nearly spilling the boiling stew. He sets the simmering pot off to the side and shuts the stove off completely.

“You two almost wrecked dinner,” he warns them, still chuckling, “Put a stop on the show until _after_ the dinner has been served.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” Charlie says, “It’s 1998, women can be as funny as we want.”

“It’s not – _uggh_ ,” Dean groans, bringing over his braised chicken, “Just stuff your faces so I don’t have to hear any more words come out of your mouth.”

“Loud and clear, Winchester!” Jo salutes while forking a large piece of meat and slapping it down onto her plate. Dean shakes his head, moving over to grab a few more dishes to serve alongside Benny’s gumbo.

“I hope y’all are ready for a flavor explosion,” Benny tells them, “I had to make due – Dean we really gotta get you some O-negative stock in here – but your tastebuds will be taking a riverboat on down to the bayou!”

“This is such a weird side of you Benny,” Charlie says, ripping off a piece of bread, “I _like_ it.”

Dean almost makes a comment, when a shock of blue flashes in the corner of his eye. Castiel watches them from the bottom of the stairs, an unsure look on his face. The slight hesitation in his stance warms Dean’s heart, and draws forth words before he can even think them over.

“Hey Cas,” he calls, drawing attention to the other boy, “What brings you down here?”

“Oh, I was just coming down to grab a snack,” Castiel tells him, moving towards the fridge, “Don’t mind me.”

“A snack?” Dean asks, “That’s all you need?”

“I assure you it will be more than sufficient,” Castiel says, pulling out a small yogurt from the fridge. Dean snorts at the sight, legs carrying him over towards Castiel. He snatches the yogurt out of his hands and places it back in the fridge.

“Come eat with us,” he says, “We have more than enough food.” Castiel frowns; looking towards the table and then, _finally_ , at Dean (‘ _Damn I missed those eyes_ ’). “And,” he adds, “I’m sure we’re better company than whatever it is you do up there?”

Castiel rolls his eyes, a tiny smile dimpling his cheeks – such a small act that shoots right through the unraveling harness holding his grand piano sized heart up, sending it plummeting down towards his feet.

“I… might as well,” he relents, “My _things_ can wait.” Dean spins on his heel, hiding a too-wide grin as he leads Castiel towards the table. The others smile kindly, but obviously thrown off by the addition.

“Hey Castiel,” Charlie greets first, “Glad to see you join us. I’m Charlie –“

“Yes,” he nods, “I know who you are.” He turns to the others, “And you, Benny and Joanna Beth –“

“Jo,” she cuts him off, “Just call me Jo.”

Conversation comes to a stuttering halt after that. They each become wrapped up in their food. Dean, the only outlier, watches how all their faces light up with each bite. He might linger on Cas’s a bit longer than most, but thankfully no one catches him.

“So, Cas,” Dean starts up again, halfway through his meal, “What is it you do up there in your room all the time?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I mean – ah,” Dean scratches at the back of his neck, “Must be interesting s’all, seeing as you’re up there a lot.”

“It’s… not much,” Castiel tells him, “I study… do my homework… I – uh, I _read_.”

“That’s,” Dean fumbles, “That’s all?”

“I do more than that,” Castiel defends, “Sometimes I also work out. I train. I don’t necessarily do it here… the confines of four walls and a roof unsuitable to really testing my limits.”

“That’s true,” Dean smiles, “I’d hate to see a hole in our walls because you blasted one of your light-rays at it.” The joke falls flat.

“So what do you do to relax?” Charlie asks.

Castiel tilts his head at her, “Relax?”

“You know,” Jo adds in, “When you’re not doing things for school or heroics? Like a… hobby of some sort.”

“I mean… I sleep?” Castiel tells them, “Is that a hobby?”

“Not really, man,” Benny says, “Hobby’s are s’posed to be _fun_. You do it just to… do? Because you enjoy it, not because it’ll lead to anything.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Castiel frowns, “We’re heroes. Why would we waste time with stuff like that when we have people to protect? Shouldn’t we be at the peak of perfection to handle whatever comes our way?”

“We might be heroes, but we’re also human, dude,” Charlie snorts, “If I didn’t have my video games or my comic books, I’d go nuts.”

“That’s a little selfish though, isn’t it,” Castiel says, taking another bite of Dean’s chicken, “Why should we be taking breaks? We’ve been selected as the best of the best – to become the future heroes our world will turn to when crisis strikes. I just… it doesn’t seem logical –“

“There’s nothing logical about it, Castiel,” Jo butts in, “Not everything is a problem that needs to be solved! Sorry we’re not your ideal bunch of heroes – they’re all out saving the world while you’re stuck in here… with _us_.”

Castiel looks down at his food. He swallows his bite before pushing away from the table. “My apologies,” Castiel starts, “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I – I’ll be heading back to my room.” He turns to Dean, “Thank you for the food. It was really good,” he turns to Benny, “Thank you.” Castiel shuffles head-down back up the stairs.

Dean frowns, trailing his gaze on him until he disappears before rounding on Jo. “Nice going, Harvelle,” he grouses, “Way to scare him off.”

“Not my fault he’s rude,” she grumbles, stuffing more food into her face, “Judging us… calling us selfish… just because the boy don’t know a good time from a hole in the ground.”

“Hey!”

“Settle down, Dean,” Benny tries to calm him, “Jo might have a large bark, but she isn’t wrong.”

“Yeah,” Charlie nods, “He’s… he’s just a bit too serious. It was nice of you to invite him to dinner but he’s not the type to – uh… well, radiate joy and comfort.”

Dean glances around the room, biting his lip. He has more to say on the matter, but can’t find it within to voice his opinion. ‘ _Besides_ ,’ he thinks, ‘ _What do you really know about him? They’ve got three years of experience while all you have is little fantasies…_ ’

“Can we – can we just…” Dean spears his last bite of chicken, “finish up and go back to watching Netflix?”

* * *

They’re piled too adorably to stay mad at. Dean watches from nearby, how Charlie tucks herself into one of the corners, and how Benny completely envelops Jo. The screen is that weird grey-black that comes from late-night disuse, waiting for someone to change a channel and start it up again.

Dean had woken up with a knee in his bladder, forcing him towards the bathroom. It didn’t take long for his half-asleep haze to turn into full awareness, the bright fluorescent lighting aiding in his journey. Now he’s leaning against the wall, debating whether or not to kick them out of his house.

Even though the lockdown has ended, he decides they can stay on his couch for now.

“How can they sleep like that?”

Dean startles at the sound, Castiel popping up beside him. He’s dressed much more comfortably than Dean – in soft cotton pants and a tank top that immediately makes their way into Dean’s long-term memory.

Dean chuckles, “When you’re that tired, it doesn’t matter where you rest your head.”

“I see.”

He’s very aware of Castiel in this moment. How now, even in the dark, his body glows from within by some unnatural source. He reminds Dean of a golden statue, something he can gawk at from below but never touch. That thought grows claws in the silence, and he fights back with words.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks.

“Unfortunately,” Castiel starts, “My mind was occupied with… many thoughts.”

“Like what?”

“What do you do to… relax?”

Dean’s thrown off by the strange question. Castiel keeps staring straight ahead, avoiding his gaze. He racks his mind for an answer, the simplest of questions driving all sorts of thoughts away.

“Well, I bake… if you remember,” Dean starts, “I would fix my Bab… I mean, my car – that’d calm me for a bit. I also would just sit up on the roof of my old house and,” he blushes, “just kind of watch the stars. That’s the beauty of living in the ‘burbs. When I was younger, my entire family would lay out a blanket and go stargazing. Me and Sammy, Ma and…” He clears his throat, “Why you askin’?”

“Just I…” Castiel finally looks to him, a blush dusting his cheeks, “I never put much thought into this sort of thing. In my family, if we weren’t using our free time to better ourselves and our talents it would be considered – well… it’d be a waste.”

“What?” Dean asks, “What kind of a household lives like that?”

“One with a strong legacy behind it,” Castiel admits, “Mine is one of the longest living hero legacies with many famous saviors born from our ranks. It’s hard to shine brightly under such long shadows.” His face grows cold, almost distant. “To carve your own path under the expectations of others.”

“I know what you mean,” Dean says, “It’s a… it’s rough.” Castiel turns his gaze towards Dean once more, softening his features.

“You keep surprising me, Dean Winchester,” he says, smirking.

“Is that,” Dean stutters, “Is that a good thing?”

“I’m not sure…”

There’s a long beat of time where Dean looks into Castiel’s eyes and vice versa. Dean clears his throat and turns away first.

“Y’know,” he starts, “If you ever need any help relaxing… I’d be willing to help.”

Castiel studies him closely, eyes scorching a path on Dean’s skin. After finding whatever he’s looking for, he smiles.

“Okay,” he says, “I’ll hold you to that.” Castiel turns from him, heading back up the stairs.

Dean spends the next five minutes convincing himself he wasn’t dreaming.


	7. Ghosts of the Past

The days leading up to Halloween are always strange – but nothing could prepare him for the oddity that comes from living on a campus surrounded by super-powered teens. Charlie spent a lot of her time snacking on bags of candy, vibrating with the pent-up energy of a sugar rush. Ed and Harry were somehow around every corner on campus, a camera tucked under one of their arms. From what Dean was told, they spend all their time leading up to the holiday trying to catch ‘ghosts’ that supposedly haunted the Academy.

He might have felt bad when Meg phased through a wall one afternoon and scared them into high-pitch wails – if they didn’t have the _nerve_ to ask Dean if he thinks his dad might haunt the grounds.

A good scare wasn’t enough punishment. But a reminder of what awaits his ideal revenge halts any raised fist.

Now, however, the Friday before Halloween, the Academy’s campus has never felt _deader_.

‘ _Weird_ ,’ Dean thinks, scrunching grass underhand. He’s lying on a secluded section, under a large tree, his book marked and far away from where he is now. His eyes had started to blur the lines between words, and staring into empty air was the preferred option now.

He doesn’t blame them. If Dean weren’t feeling restless, he’d be locked away in his room to doing his homework instead of fighting against the growing chill. Even his oversized brown leather jacket isn’t enough to keep the wind out, and he draws further into himself to preserve any warmth.

“Dean? What are you doing out so late?”

A spike of heat works its way down Dean’s chest just then at the sound of Castiel’s familiar rumble. The other boy slows his pace to a halt beside the tree, catching his breath. Dean takes this time to trail a languid gaze down his figure.

Despite the temperature, Castiel dresses in shorts and another tank top – a classic Castiel Novak running outfit. Dean’s very familiar with it ever since he and the others stumbled upon him one day after coming back from town. And given the labored breathing and the sun’s position, Castiel must have been out for a while.

“I can ask the same of you,” Dean says, “Aren’t you afraid of catching something?”

“I have a strong immune system,” Castiel explains, “Besides, I run extremely hot all the time – a side effect of my powers.”

“That so?” Dean asks, cocking a brow, “Then why aren’t you drowning in sweat?”

Castiel smirks now, leaning against the tree. “I _never_ sweat.”

‘ _But I do_ ,’ Dean thinks, the simple phrase affecting him many ways. He grabs his book and starts fiddling with it, searching his mind for something to talk about. Ever since that night nearly a week ago, he and Castiel have been making strides in their acquaintanceship. There are still more awkward silences than Dean is comfortable with, but he’s sure the bumps in their road to friendship will become few and farther between.

“So…” he starts, “You excited for the weekend?”

“Why?” Castiel turns to him, “Is there cause for excitement?”

“Uh, yeah?” Dean snorts, smiling at the other boy, “Gabe and Balthazar’s big party? It’s like… all anyone’s talking about.” Charlie wouldn’t shut up about it since the first time she mentioned it the night of the lockdown. And no matter how hard Jo tried, she couldn’t go up against the unstoppable force. Which is why there’s a costume hanging up in Dean’s closet. He didn’t have enough time to put together something, but thankfully Charlie had friends in fabric-y places.

If only it wasn’t completely embarrassing.

“Yes, I know about it,” Castiel frowns, “It interrupts any chance I have at studying with its loud music… I try and get the faculty to shut it down but they allow them access to Sodom & Gomorrah every time.”

“Studying?” Dean asks, “What are you doing studying? Haven’t you ever gone?”

“If I recall Dean, parties weren’t on the list of things I’m,” he makes air quotes, “well-versed in.” Dean sighs, remembering the exact list Castiel references. He drafted it for Dean the following afternoon when the classes were cancelled, and he convinced the uptight teen to take a break with some lunch. They brainstormed all the things Castiel has missed out on – and parties were at the top of the list.

“So, it’s settled then,” Dean smiles, “We’re going!”

“Now, Dean –“

“Don’t ‘now, Dean’ me, Cas,” he stops him, “You want me to help you ‘relax’,  well… parties are the best way to do it!”

“I don’t see how intoxicating myself into a stupor is relaxing, Dean,” Castiel says, pouting.

Dean rolls his eyes, “You don’t _have_ to drink if you don’t want to, y’know. This ain’t some afterschool special. There’s so many other things you can do like dance, mingle, or,” he flushes, “y’know… hook up?”

There’s a strange beat before Dean dares look at him. Castiel’s trademarked confused expression greets him at the familiar angle.

“You don’t know what hook up means, do you?” Dean asks, cursing the small cooing voice in his head, “Of course you don’t.”

“I still don’t see how any of this can be enjoyable –“

“That’s why I’m here to help!” Dean crows, pushing himself to his feet. He grabs his stuff and swings an arm around Castiel, drawing them both forward. “This’ll be great Cas – our first party at the Academy!”

“I’m not sure it’ll be that great, Dean,” Castiel grumbles, “Gabriel and Balthazar are aware of my… disdain for them. I don’t think they’ll let me in, even if I do find myself at their doorstep.”

“Nah, those two hold grudges about as well as a sieve holds water,” Dean tells him, “But if you’re that worried, you don’t have to show your face.”

“So you’re not forcing me to attend this party?”

“No,” Dean says, “You’re in luck, because this is a _costume_ party!”

“A… costume party?”

“Yeah, dressing up, wearing masks?” Dean tries to trigger some flash of recognition, but Castiel’s face remains as blank as a rock. “You… you never wore a costume, either?”

“Halloween was not of import in my house,” Castiel shrugged, “Mother and Father rarely decorated for any holiday… and food that negatively affected our training was banned.”

“So you never went trick-or-treating!” Dean cries, “Cas, man, my heart goes out to you.” Dean draws him even closer, pressing side up against side, “We’re going to make this Halloween the best you’ll ever have!”

“I… I can’t wait.”

* * *

Dean swears the next person to pull on his cape is going to be walking out of the party as a hospital patient. ‘ _At least they’d be getting off better than Charlie_.’ Her royal highness could find new life as a salesman if she didn’t want a full-time superhero career.

Although he couldn’t place all the blame on Charlie: she might have made him try it on, but she wasn’t the one who felt pretty… _nice_ in it.

‘ _Nice? Who am I kidding – I’m_ ** _rocking_** _this,_ ’ he thinks, fiddling with the ends of the red fabric, ‘ _It’s just none of these jerks can wrap their heads around a badass Little Red Riding Hood._ ’ He remembers how it felt putting it on for the first time, stepping from out of the girls’ bathroom to face their full-length mirror. Dean was a little self-conscious at first: the short-sleeved white button up a tad tight, and the shorts cutting too high above the knee. But his friends’ cheers and wolf-whistles really helped, as did Charlie tying the hood over his shoulders. He beamed, and with all his might he couldn’t tuck it away and hide it.

That same grin unfurls itself now as Dean hatches from his anxious cocoon. He relaxes against a nearby wall, and casts a curious gaze around the room – taking it all in.

Gabriel and Balthazar were known for their parties for good reason. Dean hadn’t realized an empty building existed on the campus grounds – and so close to his own suite. It was very similar to Dean’s own residence, except double its size. The house could easily fit the many students that attended. But even with the sheer amount of kids, he was still able to spot his friends.

Across the room, Charlie in her familiar armor chatted away with Dorothy – ironically, dressed like the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz. Both seemed to be talking about their costumes, his redheaded friend stroking her armored bodice in interest.  At a good distance from them, Jo was stuck in a conversation with their hosts for the evening. Her cowgirl outfit was a bit basic (with only the hat and boots separating her from a regular Jo outfit). Gabriel and Balthazar, however, made up for her lacking enthusiasm.  Each was dressed in togas, with gold cords bunched around their waists and laurel in their hair. It was obvious to anyone that they were doing their best to ‘charm’ Jo, but her stoic face taunted their flossing ability. Watching from a safe distance with an amused grin was Benny, in Dean’s second favorite costume of the night. He had opted to go dressed as a ‘shitty vampire’. He bought a ruffled shirt and cape, smeared fake blood across his cheeks, and even wore large, false fangs that slobbered every time he spoke. Dean always found a beauty in the costumes people _knew_ they looked ridiculous in.

Which is why Castiel’s costume is his favorite.

He was at a loss for what he was supposed to wear as a costume, and their limited time and budget meant there weren’t many options. But what they did have was a pristine sheet, scissors, and ingenuity.

It took five minutes of Dean laughing before they could even leave their suite.

Now, Castiel stands out, weaving through the crowd frantically. He offered to get Dean a drink – something to focus on beside strangers’ taunts. And even though he’s now letting their snide comments roll off like water off a duck’s back, a drink still sounds good; even better when it’s Castiel delivering it to him.

Before Dean can wave the other boy over, however, a devil slips her arm over Castiel’s shoulders and presses close to him. Meg laughs and says something Dean can’t quite hear. It shouldn’t matter, except Castiel doesn’t push Meg away. He stands there with her – probably talking, except they forgot to cut a mouth hole in the sheet, so Dean can’t really tell.

‘ _But what else are they doing_ , _then_ ,’ Dean thinks, frowning, ‘ _They have to be talking. But why is he talking to_ ** _her_** _? Cas doesn’t like people!_ ’ The thought cuts at his heart like it’s a pumpkin. Carving into it, and making it hollow. ‘ _He… he doesn’t like people…_ ’ He snuffs the petty flame of jealousy as soon as it lights, sulking in its smoky remains. ‘ _This is a good thing_ ,’ he tries rationalizing, ‘ _It’s what you wanted right? To see Cas relax… get that stick out of his ass?’_ The lie hits a discordant note, and awakens the awful voice inside Dean’s head.

‘ _N o w t h a t ‘ s n o t t r u e , i s i t ?’_

A flicker of anger crosses his face at the voice’s intrusion. Dean quickly looks down, away from the inciting incident. But even avoiding the sight doesn’t take away from its presence. So he sticks to his guns.

Dean quietly slips away from his post, into another area of the house. Too distracted by his brain, he knocks into students here and there. He thinks he might have spilled a drink onto Gordon, but he couldn’t concentrate on anything other than ‘ _One-one-two, One-two-two, One-three-two, Out_ ’.

The mantra feels like a soggy Band-Aid tonight, the bad thoughts amplified by the noise and the people and the seeing Castiel with Meg – filling in the blanks with the worst he can imagine. ‘ _It wasn’t like that_ ,’ he says, gripping the counter tightly, ‘ _It wasn’t._ ’

‘ _A r e y o u s u r e ?’_

_‘Shut up!_ ’ he thinks, ‘ _I am_ ** _so_** _not in the mood for you right now._ ’ He grabs at one of the many cups set up and gulps it down, not waiting before reaching for another. ‘ _I’m trying to have fun_ ,’ he takes another long drink, ‘ _With my friends_ ,’ he’s on his third cup now, ‘ _Like Cas – who I want to be my friend. That’s_ ** _all_** _._ ’

“Careful there love,” a smarmy British voice purrs from nearby, “I think your eyes might be bigger than your tolerance.” Dean glares at Crowley from his place nearby. He’s the least-most-dressed person there: decked out in his familiar black suit.

“Bite me Crowley,” he growls, guzzling the alcohol down.

“Sorry, my dear,” he smirks, stepping away, “I don’t like _bruised fruit_.” Crowley slips into the crowd, disappearing with the final word. Dean doesn’t care. The slight buzz knocking around his brain starts to drown out the awful leapfrogging he’s been attempting, and he focuses on helping ground those bad thoughts completely.

Halfway through his sixth drink, Dean feels the locks sliding back into place in his mind. ‘ _Cas can go have his little chat_ ,’ he thinks, smiling once more, ‘ _Might do him some good. Maybe he’ll finally understand what hooking up is._ ’

That sends him towards drink-number-seven.

* * *

There are too many people. Faces blur together as Dean stumbles through the crowd, slightly swaying as he passes each partygoer. His coordination has packed up and gone home, leaving him to bang into nearly everything and everyone. But all the other students are as sober as he is, letting him pass with nothing more than slurred words and simple grunts.

He moves towards the stairs, hoping to find somewhere that would stop spinning. The crowd has thinned on the second floor, but the packed groups have given way to a hallway littered with gyrating bodies. Dean treats it like an exercise simulation in the training room. He might look ridiculous, but no one pays him too much mind. They’re all too focused on each other, with glassy eyes and roving hands.

Dean tries to escape through the nearest door. The first few he finds prove fruitless – either locked or filled with shouting classmates, ordering him out and tossing him free underwear.

‘ _Not my size_ ,’ Dean thinks, discarding the bra to the floor, ‘ _But love the color._ ’

At the end of the hallway, he finds a perfect hideaway. Dean quickly closes himself off from the others. He scans the room, grinning dopily. The room is dusty and plain – obviously having been left untouched for many years. He trails fingers across a nearby desk, marking a clumsy path across the surface before wiping away the filth on his shorts.

‘ _Spooky_ ,’ he chuckles, walking further into the room. He passes by an empty dresser and a half-filled bookcase over towards a nicely made bed and its accompanying nightstand. There’s a slight indent near the edge, and a portion of the nightstand shows no sign of age.

Dean picks up the shiny picture frame, staring at two tiny children. They’re playing in a sandbox: the fairer haired child leaning up on the shoulders of his raven-haired brother (‘ _They look almost like twins_ ’), each smiling widely for the camera. Slowly, an itch irritates the back of his skull. Like a squirrel digging for nuts, something scratches inside, fighting for recognition. He presses at it, but that doesn’t help. As it grows in intensity, all he can do is stare helplessly into familiar icy blue eyes.

“Woah, sorry, didn’t know this was already taken!”

The pressure eases as Dean rounds on the intruder. He places the picture face down and turns completely. Standing in the middle of the open doorway, a kid stares at him, his eyes darting around the space. From behind him, the music slowly starts to eek back in.

“Well?” Dean asks, “You just gonna stand there?”

“You don’t mind?” the other boy asks, shutting the door behind him. He moves closer towards Dean, allowing a better look.

He’s lean: the thin latex of his catsuit leaving almost nothing to the imagination. His ears are a bit crooked, and his face paint has slightly faded from his brown skin from sweat, leaving him with four whiskers and a runny, pink nose. What draws Dean in, however, were the purple eyes roaming over him.

“Nah, I don’t mind,” Dean smiles, patting the space next to him, “Name’s Dean.”

“Max,” he says, dropping onto the bed, “Max Banes.” He’s nice and warm next to him, and Dean leans into it. Max starts explaining the story of his night – having lost track of his sister, Alicia, in the crowd, and having too much to drink. “Although maybe I wasn’t as unlucky as I thought,” he finishes, smirking at Dean.

“Really?” Dean chuckles, glancing down at Max’s lips. The other boy’s eyes follow Dean’s movements, and smiles.

“So,” Max starts, petting Dean’s knee, “You know of any way to pass the time?”

“I might,” Dean drawls, “If you’re up to it?”

Max meets him halfway, “Oh Little Red, you’ll find I ain’t a _scaredy cat_.” He presses his lips up against Dean; the simple touch like fire to his already flushed skin. Max pulls back, only for Dean to chase him, deepening the kiss. He presses his hands up against Max’s chest, moving them so they lay on their sides, feet still touching the floor. Dean traces feather light touches across latex, enjoying the feel of taut muscle underneath.

It wasn’t something he let himself enjoy often – kissing other boys. Growing up in Kansas didn’t allow for much in the way of experimentation. Girls were another story: Dean having troves of followers from his old school, who would laugh at his lame jokes and bat their eyes at him. Nothing ever came from fooling around with them – it was more transactionary. They’d get the chance to say they made out with Hunter’s son, and Dean lessened the geyser-like pressure that builds in the pants of every teenage boy going through puberty. It was never fun like making out with guys – which has only been twice, not counting tonight.

The first time was behind the bleachers his freshman year. He’d been feeling pretty down, what with not applying to the Academy and his father dying, and skipping class became a regular thing. There was a senior there, always smoking, trying to tempt him at every chance. Dean was never interested in smoking, but the guy had another thing that caught his attention. He taught Dean all he needed to know about kissing – and provided the perfect distraction when he wanted to forget the world for a bit. After that, a drunken house party with his school’s linebacker was the only other time. It didn’t end well, with the guy’s dad walking in and moving the whole family to Texas.

But with Max, there’s no chance of anyone barging in.

“I’m sorry, really, I do not want to do any of that with – _Dean!_ ”

Max jumps off of Dean, flying up to stare at Castiel and Meg where they stand together. He groans, following the other boy. Castiel pulls away his sheet, revealing a scandalized expression, while Meg grins over his shoulder.

“Cas,” Dean sighs, “Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?”

“I – I did,” Castiel mutters, weakly, “No one responded, and it wasn’t locked but – but what are _you_ doing?”

“Relaxing,” Dean stresses, massaging Max’s neck with his hands, “Y’know, what you do at a party? I figured Meg was helping _you_ out, so I might as well find my own _fun_.” Castiel stiffens at the accusation, darting an annoyed gaze behind him.

“See Castiel, even Dean thinks you should have fun,” Meg finally speaks up, tugging at his arm, “You don’t have to leave _that_ early –“

Castiel rips his arm from her grasp and glares at her. “Meg, I would like a word with Dean,” he turns to Max, “ _alone_.” Dean’s black cat gets the hint, and slinks out of the room, faux-tail between his legs. Meg follows, stomping down the hallway. Castiel closes the door and rounds on Dean. He looks up and into stormy blue eyes and feels the false sense of calm that comes with inebriation.

“You abandoned me,” Castiel accuses.

Dean snorts, “Didn’t look so lonely to me.”

“I don’t like Meg.”

“Clearly she didn’t get the message –“

“I don’t like any of these people… I don’t know _any_ of them!” Castiel yells, “I came here _with you_ and I look away _once_ and you drop me the second you can,” his voice breaks off at the end. He turns away and takes a deep breath.

“I dropped you?” Dean snorts, speaking without thought, “God, Cas, we’re not joined at the hip y’know? It’s been two months and we’re barely friends. I didn’t sign up to be your _babysitter_.”

Castiel finally looks back at Dean, his face a stony mask. It wipes the lazy smirk straight from Dean’s lips.

“You’re right, Dean,” he says, stepping towards the door, “You didn’t.” Castiel flees from the room, leaving the hinges swinging and creaking. Dean doesn’t move – he _can’t_ move, not with his head dizzyingly full of beer and bad thoughts and that awful _buzz buzz buzzing_ scratching at the base of his skull.

So he stays, perched on the bed – _alone_.


	8. An Afterschool Special (but with superpowers)

        The little town close to the Academy has already pushed Halloween to the wayside. Gone were the skeletons, witches, and bats. The cobwebs that seemed to hang from under every awning were packed away along with every other decoration. All that was set aside to make way for the good cheer of Christmas. Dean watches as different store owners start hanging lights and tinsel and garland from their storefronts, as if Halloween wasn’t a few days ago.

        ‘ _If only it were that simple_ ,’ he huffs quietly to himself, drawing further into his jacket. Behind him, Jo, Charlie, and Benny carry on with their conversation, of which Dean only hears three out of every seven words.

        His mind drifts easily as an untethered balloon, floating among clouds of bad thoughts and ‘what ifs’.

        Like, what if he didn’t jump ahead to conclusions? What if he didn’t drink too much that night? What if he didn’t say all those things to Cas?

        What if he said things that were worse?

        Dean drove himself to the brink of insanity, the questions swarming around his head like gnats on a summer day – each nipping away at him, but unable to be squashed. The swarm has only grown in intensity the longer Castiel avoids him. He hasn’t seen him _once_ in the week following the party. He doesn’t answer his door. Any peace offerings Dean made are left to cool considerably on the table. Dean hasn’t even seen him in class.

        He had made a promise that, after Combat & Danger, he’d get Castiel to talk to him no matter what. But then the first bell rang, and the second bell rang, and Jody started teaching until finally the entirety of the lesson had passed with Castiel showing up.

        “He e-mailed saying he wasn’t feeling well,” Jody explained once she dismissed them, “I told him it was okay to miss a few classes – I know how hard he works. Boy deserves a break every now and then.”

        After leaving the gym, Dean told Jo why he made her wait. “Never thought I’d see the day Golden Boy Novak missed class,” she snorted, “Must be a real doozy to stop _him_ from coming.” Her words crushed his heart like a cartoon anvil, and silently he trudged alongside her towards their next classes.

        Dean was worried, and the longer he and Castiel went without talking, the worse his anxiety got. In Drama the other day, Dean almost gave himself a panic attack once more on stage. He had to excuse himself and spend five minutes in a bathroom stall shaking before he calmed himself enough to go back to the room.

        After class was over, he secluded himself on a far away part of the campus and dialed Sam up. He picked up on the third ring.

        “Hey,” Sam said, “Are you okay?” Dean told him what had happened in class, breath quickening the more he went on. “Dean – Dean!” Sam cut his babbling off, “Take it down, come on, say it with me: One-one-two… One-two-two… One-three-two… Out.” They recited the mantra together, Sam’s voice helping slow Dean’s beating heart. When his voice started to even out, they stopped. “So,” his brother started, “how bad have they been getting?”

        “Not this bad,” Dean said, “Maybe in the beginning but it’s gotten easier. I just…” ‘ _hurt someone by being an idiot and I can’t even make it up to him because he’s avoiding me_.’ “I don’t know,” he finishes meekly.

        “Dean, you have to know,” Sam said, “You wouldn’t have called me if you didn’t.” He curses his brother’s insane logic-following abilities, as well as his own predictableness.

        “It’s nothing _you_ can fix,” Dean said, rubbing at his eyes, “Thanks for… helping me calm down. I,” he fumbled, “I miss you. It all used to be so _easy_.”

        “Dean, whatever you’re going through, you don’t have to do it alone,” Sam said, “Mom and I are always going to be in your corner.”

        “I know… thanks.”

        “And whatever it is that’s making you upset, you _will_ get through it,” Sam continued, “You always have.” Dean couldn’t speak, but he grunted in response. “I have to go now, I won’t tell mom about your attack, but text me when you got everything sorted out okay? Bye.”

        “…Bye.”

        The only other person Dean had attempted to get advice from on the situation was Michael – even though his skin crawled throughout the entire conversation. Before the bus left for town, Dean had found some time to swing by his office. At first he didn’t think anyone was there, the secretary’s desk unmanned, but drifting closer to the door allowed him to hear some voices.

        “ –not sure why, but I don’t think it’ll make a difference,” Michael talked into his phone, playing with a snow globe, “…Please, you think I’d be this calm if there _was_ a problem? I’ve waited too long… he _won’t_ interfere –“ He caught his eye, the other man’s face transitioning into a smile by way of a frown first. “I’ll call you back,” Michael said, standing, “Other matters to deal with, saving the world you know that. Bye!” He placed the phone and snow globe back on his desk and moved to greet Dean. “Mr. Winchester, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

        “Do you, uh... do y’have a minute?” Dean scratched at the base of his skull, the familiar buzzing there starting up once more. He pushed it to the back of his mind though, like a faraway chainsaw, to focus on the conversation.

        “Of course I can – I’m always there for my students… unless there’s an emergency, then I’m there for innocent citizens…” Michael trailed off, shaking his head. He leaned against his desk and crossed his arms, fixing Dean with a smirk, “What do you need?”

        “Well… it’s about Cas –“

        “Look, whatever he said, he didn’t mean it,” Michael brushed him off, frowning, “Castiel doesn’t have what much of what we call ‘people skills’, and the ones he does have are rusty –“

        “No, no, it’s… it’s not that,” Dean cut him off, “I said something… and, let’s just say your brother’s mad at me. I just wanted to see if you knew anything that could help me make it up to him?”

        “Wait,” Michael stopped him, “You want to… apologize _to_ Castiel?”

        “Yeah?”

        “Sorry, but whenever someone brings him up in this office it’s usually on his glowing record of sociability,” Michael explained, scrubbing a hand down his face, “I’ve never heard any of his classmates want to apologize to _him_ before.”

        “What I said was messed up and – and I didn’t mean it, I thought,” Dean bit his lip, looking away, “That, since you’re brothers you might know how I could get him to start talking to me again – like, does he have a favorite food? Like any movies? I’m… I’m so lost.”

        “Hey, hey, Dean, calm down,” Michael reached forward, putting a hand on his shoulder. The ache flares up, stretched as far forward as his temples. Dean struggled to listen to Michael through the pain. “None of that’s gonna help you. Castiel… he’s a tricky one – he can hold a mean grudge. You should see the one he has against… well, that’s not important. What I’m trying to say is that Castiel won’t listen unless you _make_ him listen.”

        “I’m still not following.”

        “It takes a lot to get through to him,” Michael continued, moving back behind his desk, “Believe me… I know… But if you manage to wrangle him in, after that you just have to be honest. He _hates_ people who try to play games… who lie and whatever. Real stick in the mud with his moral compass – but very easy to win over if you know how to use him.”

        Dean felt disheartened by the advice. He didn’t have any idea what to expect from Michael, but telling him to stay persistent was not it. There was always so much grandeur about him, what with the way students and faculty talked about him. He was still trying to adjust his view of Michael from the one he came in with, but still hasn’t adapted to his new Dean with the same fervor of others. People had pictures of him in their lockers, everyone cheered whenever he arrived, and any interview he gives is aired on all the televisions across campus. The image of him plastered everywhere promised many things, but the entire meeting left Dean short-changed.

        “Dean?”

        He pauses, looking behind him. His friends stare at him, unused to this reserved pensiveness. They’ve stopped outside a nearby park, with a great distance between them.

        “What?”

        “You okay?” Charlie asks, “We’ve passed this place, like, three times already.”

        He blinks, unsure of what to say. Dean hadn’t been paying attention, nor did he know he was leading their small troop. His response is taken from him as an arm appears around his shoulders, startling him.

        “Of course he’s fine, Bradbury,” Ketch says, squeezing Dean tight against him, “Nothing can shake that invincible Winchester grit.” He frowns against the other kid’s hold, and pushes him away.

        “What?” Ketch asks innocently, his smile anything but, “Too close? I thought you _liked_ that sort of thing?” Dean’s heart drops, eyes widening. ‘ _He couldn’t be mentioning… no, he can’t_.’ “I like my personal space just as much as anyone else, Ketch,” Dean answers, voice shaky and unsure.

        “That’s not what we’ve heard,” Bela sneaks up behind Ketch, squeezing his waist, head resting on his shoulder, “And Dean – I totally get it. In hindsight, it makes sense actually.”

        “Dean,” Jo comes to his side, “What’s she going on about?”

        “Nothing, don’t – don’t worry about it,” Dean tells her, “Let’s just go –“

        “Oh, did we hit a nerve?” Ketch taunts, “You still a little sensitive? Figures _you’d_ be the one taking it up your –“

        Dean tackles him before he could finish, sending both of them into the grass behind them. Ketch tries to blip out of sight, but Dean keeps wrestling with him, trying to land a punch. There are more than three sets of hands on him, trying to pull him off. It takes Benny and Jo working together to pry Dean away, but not before he can slam his fist into Ketch’s face and break his nose. He’s still invisible, but the trail of blood helps fill in the blanks.

        Bela helps Ketch up, the other boy coming into view. “You fucking twat, Winchester,” he yells, “Just you wait – I’m going to make sure you pay for this! Mommy can’t save you this time –“

        Bella tries to drag him away, “Let’s go, they’re not worth it –“

        “You’ll be out of here!” he screams, retreating, “You broken little soldier! Messed up in the head!” Dean closes his eyes, counting to himself, and breathing deeply.

        “What in the hell was that, Dean?” Benny asks first, glaring at him, “Ketch isn’t one to lay low on – he’ll get you good if you aren’t looking.”

        “That little prick better not _lay low_ on me,” Dean fumes, “He just gets me so… so…”

        “He riles all of us up,” Jo says, “Honestly, I don’t know if there’s a kid in this school who doesn’t get on my nerves at least _some_ of the time.”

        “Why are they targeting _me_ though,” Dean ignores them, drawing further into himself, “I don’t do anything – I go to class, do my homework… I’m just _trying_ to live, here.”

        “These people don’t care what you do or don’t do to them Dean,” Charlie steps forward now, comforting him, “They’ll find anything to mess with you…” She looks to the others for support, “Although… if you want to talk to anyone about… well, _anything_ at all. You know we… we’re here –“

        “No,” Dean throws her off, stepping back with wild eyes, “There’s nothing – there’s nothing _wrong_ with me!”

        “We’re not saying there is –“

        “I gotta –“ ‘ _One-one-two, One-two-two, One-three-two, Out’_ “I gotta go.”

        He doesn’t turn back.

* * *

        Night always served to help Dean disappear. He’d slip away sometimes and just roam the neighborhood – trailing down sidewalks and hopping through backyards. Back in Lawrence, the only lights he had to guide him were the same stars he loved to watch. People rarely kept their lights on past midnight, and only the occasional driver ever roamed the streets. ‘ _The beauty of living in the ‘burbs_.’ Where no one dare disturb what lies in the dark.

        But at the Academy, Dean feels watched twenty-four seven. In the morning, he’s under scrutiny from all his classmates, waiting for him to mess up. And once the sun has set, the agents are released and patrol the campus. Even now he can see their arresting blue yards away. There’s not even a way to stargaze – with searchlights drifting along like a prison.

        Dean feels unsafe, and his skin itches under the thousand eyes that are on him.

        It feels even more pressing then ever, after coming back from town.

        Ketch had made good on his word, having Dean pulled into Jody’s office. She was seated behind her desk, a stern frown on her face.

        “Dean,” she started, “I’m very disappointed in you.” He stayed quiet, letting her take control of the conversation. “Attacking another student? What were you thinking?”

        “But he –“

        “It doesn’t matter what _he_ did, Dean,” Jody said, “You escalated the situation by throwing the first punch. You’re lucky I was able to convince Ketch not to press any charges –“

        “Charges!”

        “However,” she continued, “to do so, I assured him you would be punished to the fullest extent.” Dean swallowed past the knot in his throat, thoughts of returning home halfway through the semester in tears to his family sinking his stomach. “Until the end of the semester ends, you will be barred from going into town, as well as spending two weeks in detention.”

        “That’s… that’s it?”

        “Would you like me to be _harsher_ with my punishment?”

        “No, no!” Dean rushed, “This is… it’s okay.”

        “Is it?” Jody had asked, “Dean, this isn’t the first time you’ve had an altercation with Ketch, and I’ve had reports from your other teachers talking about you. I know well enough about your… _history_ , so… if at any time you feel like this might be too much for you –“

        “It isn’t!” Dean cut her off, “I’ve worked so hard to be here, I can’t… I’m not going to turn back now. _If_ anything bothers me, I’ll handle it.”

        “You don’t have to go this alone, Dean,” Jody says, “Asking for help isn’t a sign of weakness. In fact, some may say it’s a sign of strength.”

        “I understand.”

        “Look, Dean,” she sighed, standing, “Can you just promise me that if you need anything, you’ll reach out to _someone_.”

        “I…” Dean looks away, “I can do that.”

        “Okay,” she nodded, giving him a firm clap on the shoulder, “Now get on out of here.” He’s been roaming the campus ever since, fretful on returning back to his suite as if constant motion is the only thing keeping the day’s reality from sinking in.

        By the third time he passes the gymnasium, he’s returned to some state of awareness, and can hear grunts coming from inside. Dean pauses, listening. Alongside the voice there’s a distinct slapping sound Dean can place as someone hitting a punching bag.

        Curiosity drives him forward, peeking through the door before he can convince himself otherwise. For once instinct pays off, and Dean finds Castiel striking away at the stuffed cylinder.

        His hands are taped up, and each motion highlights a different part of muscle, body glistening under the low light. His powerful blows nearly knock the bag off of its stand. 

        Dean keeps moving forward, hypnotized by him. He’s carried across the floor, sneakers squeaking against the waxed and polished wood. By the time Dean made it toward Castiel, the other boy has paused his beating, glaring at him.

        “What?” Castiel asks, breaking the silence, “Do you need anything?”

        “I – uh,” Dean stutters, “…hi?”

        “Hello,” he replies, “Is that all?”

        “No, I – um,” Dean continues, mind racing so fast nothing comes up. Any and all words he might have prepared fight to come out, each getting stuck in the pipeline as the pressure builds up.

        “As much as I enjoy this,” Castiel sighs, “I don’t want to make you _feel_ like I’m _forcing_ you to babysit –“

        “I don’t,” he says, “I didn’t – not at the party, not now, I was –“

        “What, Dean? What? You were drunk? Annoyed with me,” Castiel chuckles darkly, “That’s no excuse. And if that’s all you have to say – I think you better leave. I still have the rest of my workout to finish.” He walks past Dean towards the mats, toeing off his shoes and leaving them behind. Castiel begins to go through his forms.

        His heart beats back-and-forth against his ribs. The usual voices rise to the occasion, mobbing his mind, telling him he should throw in the towel and give up. The urge to run builds to an apex.

        But strangely enough, he doesn’t.

        Instead, Dean removes his own shoes and joins him on the mat.

        “What are you doing?” Castiel asks.

        “Training,” he tells him, “You get nowhere fighting against no one. So, fight me.”

        “I think we all remember what happened the last time that happened.”

        “Fight me.”

        “Just what is your angle, Dean?” Castiel steps up, nose to nose, “Do you think letting me beat you up will gloss over the fact you hurt me?”

        “Cas,” Dean pleads, “Fight me.”

        Castiel trails his eyes down Dean’s figure, sizing him up. A considerable amount of time passes before he nods and takes his place on the other side. “Fine,” he says, “I’ll do it – if only to remove you sooner.”

        Dean readies himself into a fighting stance, preparing for the onslaught he’s sure awaits him when Castiel’s ready. Across from him, Castiel takes a deep breath and finds his center, waiting a beat before launching himself forward.

        The first punch sends Dean back a few inches, nearly knocking him on his butt. He’s more prepared for the next ones, their rapid movements being met with Dean’s hands and arms. Castiel takes a large step back before moving to sweep Dean’s legs, which he dodges by jumping back.

        “What?” Castiel huffs, shaking, “Playing defensive? Don’t feel like _attacking_ me this time?”

        “Cas –“

        “Just hit me!” he growls, throwing himself forward into a sloppy punch. Dean easily sidesteps it and knocks him off-balance. Castiel lets loose another flurry of punches, interspersed with roundhouse kicks and knee-hits. Each time Dean blocks the attack, only causing the other boy’s face to heat up further. He even manages a drop of sweat, a sight Dean takes no pleasure in.

        “Just what are you up to?” Castiel asks between blows, eyes like fire, “Why are you doing this? Why are you so – _fucking_ – hard to read!” His last punch glows, and Dean’s brows rise high above his forehead. A blast fires from Castiel’s fist, and Dean manages to avoid it at the last second. It goes straight through the punching bag and hits the wall, scorching it.

        Dean watches Castiel as he stands frozen, body shaking. Soon enough, however, he collapses in on himself, breathing heavily. He walks over to him, hovering, slightly out of reach, waiting for Castiel to speak.

        “I’ve never felt like this you know,” Castiel starts, “I didn’t know how much things could hurt this bad anymore. Growing up, breaking countless bones, waking up bruised and sore in new places every day – I got used to dealing with pain. Was able to expect it. But I… you showed me a whole new way to hurt, Dean.”

        “Cas, I’m sorry,” Dean says, folding himself down into a sitting position, “Yes I was drunk and annoyed, but it doesn’t excuse what I said. I just… I wanted to make you hurt because I felt that way and wanted to… wanted to share the pain.”

        “I don’t understand.”

        “It’s… really stupid, in the hindsight of things,” Dean admits sheepishly, “I didn’t _intend_ to ditch you at the party. But I saw you with Meg and I… I jumped to some pretty nasty conclusions that sent me into a spiral.”

        “Dean, I have never spoken to Meg before that night,” Castiel says, confused, “Why would you make assumptions like that?”

        “Because this thing right here,” Dean points at his head, “It’s a _minefield_. Some days are good, and some days I have no idea what’s gonna trigger an explosive and send me into an episode. Been like that for awhile.”

        “So the night of the party,” Castiel says, “That was what you would call an ‘episode’?”

        “More or less,” Dean shrugs, “Usually I don’t get like that but… when you add alcohol…” he makes jazz hands, “you get a Dean somehow even worse than the rest!”

        “This is…” Castiel starts, drawing into himself, obviously mulling it all over. He looks up into Dean’s eyes, “You say your brain has been like this for awhile?”

        “Yeah, it’s,” Dean says, playing with his sleeves, “ever since my dad died. I had a pretty rough time with it, and while Sammy was able to handle things and be _normal_ I… I couldn’t. I couldn’t get _better_. Ma took me to see a psychologist and I got some pretty heavy diagnoses. The big one was generalized anxiety. Reason why it took me so long to get _in_ to the Academy is because I’ve been working on managing it with my therapist, and she’s only felt I’ve progressed far enough last spring. Although, hell of a job I’m doing so far. I’ve had more panic attacks in two months than I’ve ever had since I was diagnosed.”

        “Wow, Dean that is,” Castiel is at a loss for words, “I – um… I didn’t know. Sorry –“

        “You have nothing to apologize for,” Dean tells him, “Just because I’m messed up doesn’t mean I should have acted that way to you. _I’m_ the one who’s sorry.”

        Castiel stares at Dean, with a light in his eye that makes him tingle weirdly. He wants to look away, but feels trapped in his gaze. “What?” Dean asks, nerves finally hitting his vocal chords.

        “You are… you are nothing like I thought you were, Dean.”

        “What?”

        “When I heard from Michael that you were coming to our school, I was not enthused,” he explains, “I figured I knew enough about your type –“

        “My _type_?”

        “Kids of heroes that coast on their parents’ success; that don’t see the benefit of training and taking these classes seriously, doing whatever they want. That believe they _deserve_ to be inducted into the League only because of whom they know. There are a few here who are exactly like that. Crowley comes to mind, taking advantage of the fact that his mother, Rowena, has such a high position of power. Everything I _try_ not to be.”

        “Crowley is Rowena’s son?”

        “You didn’t know?” Castiel asks, only to shake his head, “It doesn’t matter. Anyway, that’s what I _thought_ for the longest time. Even when I met you, I allowed my rash judgments to color the conversations we had. But then…”

        “Then what?”

        “You didn’t start to fit the mold anymore,” Castiel explained, “Suddenly I couldn’t put you in a box. It… it scared me. Everything I know can be placed into little spaces I carve for them, except you. I thought you were… really _sweet_ and nice, actually. No one… no one tried as hard as you did to be my friend.”

        Dean smiles at the compliment, while a blush creeps up his neck.

        “So I thought maybe engaging with you would help solve this mystery. Except that day in Life Skills, in the garage,” Dean frowns, remembering, “Seeing you attack Ketch and – and _hearing_ the slap on the wrist you got for it. I doubted myself, maybe thought I read more into you than I thought. But then I thought I didn’t, and after the party I considered every observation was a fluke, and that you _were_ toying with me. And now I… I just… I don’t know what to think of you Dean Winchester.”

        “Cas I... I want you to think of me as Dean,” he starts, “I’m not ‘Hunter’s Kid’ or ‘that poor Winchester boy’… I’m _Dean_. All my life I’ve had to live under the weight of meeting the expectations everyone has of me. To be as great – or even greater – than both my parents ever were. You know as well as I do how stressful that is. When people look at me, they don’t… they don’t see _me_. They see everything they _want_ me to be.” Dean clears his throat, blinking away tears. “I get it Cas – it ain’t easy being a legacy.”

        “Yet you always made it look that way,” Castiel continues, leaning forward with renewed interest, “Even if you say it was hard, you never looked bothered. You have friends! I… I don’t. You say no one sees you, but even I am more invisible.”

        “You’re wrong, Cas,” Dean says, “You do have a friend.”

        “I do?”

        “Me.”

        “Dean,” Castiel starts, “I don’t want your pity –“

        “It’s not pity, Cas,” Dean cuts him off, “All this time, you think I wanted to be your friend because I _pitied_ you? Fuck pity – I wanted to be your friend because I _want_ to understand you. I don’t know what to think of you either but… but if you’ll let me… maybe I can figure it out one day.” He tries to reign in his hopeful smile, but can’t help the grin starting to stretch across his face.

        Castiel returns his smile with less fervor, nodding, “Maybe one day I can as well.”

        “Okay, then it’s settled,” Dean nods, standing. He holds a hand out to Cas, “And as my first official duty as your _friend_ ,” he says, “may I suggest we get out of here?”

        “Why?”

        “Because I’m already in enough trouble as it is,” he explains, “And I don’t want to be here when someone finds _that_.” He jerks a thumb over to what’s left of the punching bag. Castiel blushes at the realization, allowing Dean to pull him to his feet.

        They make their way towards the exit before Castiel stops him. “Wait, there’s still one thing I’m not sure of.”

        “What’s that?”

        “At the party… what were you feeling that caused you to ‘spiral’, as you said?”

        Dean blushes, turning away, unable to meet Cas’s eyes. “Well, y’see… I was feeling,” ‘ _Jealous, heartbroken, sad sad sad – you’re mine Cas, I want you, let’s be more –’_ “Peeved I thought you were going to ditch _me_! It was dumb…”

        “That it was,” Castiel smiles, clapping him on the shoulder, leading them out into the cool night, “A dumb mistake I hope we never have to repeat. Please, friend to friend, if you ever have something on your mind – anything at all – I want to hear it. I don’t want any type of miscommunication to impact us in the future as it did in the past. Is that okay with you?”

        Dean chuckles nervously, “Right as rain, Cas. _S’allll_ right with me.”

        They make their way back to the suite, together.


	9. Give Thanks

His room doesn’t look right. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t been back home since August, but that fails to calm his nerves. Dean searches for what’s wrong or missing, looking under his bed, tearing through his desk, and peeling back the posters. It all seems exactly as he left it, but Dean can’t help the sense of _wrongness_ that crawls over his skin. He pauses, on bended knee, exhausted.

“Ma!” he calls, “Ma, I need your help!”

There’s a harsh set of footsteps rushing towards him. Dean turns at the sound of his creaky door. “Ma, something doesn’t feel –“ he pauses, jaw dropping at the image before him.

His mother isn’t there. Instead, someone in a dark, hooded robe stands at the entrance. The deep purple is stained with blood on the cuffs, dripping onto his carpet. The stranger’s face is concealed in the shadows, but Dean can make out a strong, scruffy jaw.

“Who are you?” Dean asks, “What are you doing here? Where’s Ma? Sammy?”

The stranger doesn’t answer. Instead he slowly moves forward, piercing into Dean’s heart a great sense of foreboding. “Hey,” Dean tries again, backing away, “Answer me? What’s going on? Who are you?” He backs up against his wall, trapped. The figure extends a blood-soaked hand, and Dean focuses on that. There’s a strange-patterned tattoo in the palm that glows the closer it gets to Dean. “Get away!” It’s an inch from his face, and the stranger almost touches him -  but he’s saved the moment he wakes up.

“Mr. Winchester,” Mr. Shurley shakes him, startling him, “I’m sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep but may I remind you that you are in class right now?”

“What?” Dean rubs at his eyes, coming back to his senses, “Yes – yes, Mr. Shurley, sorry.” Mr. Shurley nods, turning back to his lecture. Dean shrinks back in his seat, mind still reeling from the strange dream. Like most people, he’s already starting to forget it, left with only tiny shreds of memory. He latches onto them, quickly scribbling it all down into the margins of his notebook. The only clear thing still stuck with him is the symbol, etched under a small note from a bygone lecture.

Class passes by quickly after that, Dean too focused on deciphering the dream to pay attention as all his classmates leave him.

“Dean?” Mr. Shurley calls, “You know you can leave now right?”

“I can?” he asks, looking around at the now empty room, “Yeah… I can…” Dean moves to pack up his bag. By the time he’s ready to go, Mr. Shurley has moved closer to him once more, sitting in the desk in front of him, facing him. He stalls, placing his bag back down.

“Is… is this about me sleeping?” Dean asks, “Listen, I don’t know how that happened and – and I promise I won’t do it again –“

“Dean, relax, you’re not in trouble,” Mr. Shurley cuts him off, “I don’t think you can _get_ into more trouble than you already are.”

“Yeah…”

“This is about something else,” Mr. Shurley leans in closer, “I want to ask you a question.”

“Um… okay?”

“Have you noticed anything… _strange_?” he whispers, “Like things that you wouldn’t think are… normal?”

Dean’s eyes widen, his words weighing heavily on his shoulders. He tries to shake it off, even though his teacher voices a few of the thoughts that have been plaguing him since his arrival. “What – um… what do you mean?” Dean asks, “This school is kinda not normal already don’t you think…? Not everyone’s day revolves around becoming tomorrow’s superheroes?” The joke doesn’t do well to break the tension. He sighs, looking away from Mr. Shurley. “Yeah,” Dean admits, “I… I got the same feeling. I wasn’t sure if maybe that was the general vibe but… this place isn’t at _all_ like I imagined.”

“Can you explain?”

“Well, it’s like this,” Dean starts, “It’s not the school’s fault, but everyone _in_ it. There’s a lot of stuff that just doesn’t add up to me – like I’m staring at one of those weird holographic pictures, and everyone can see what’s hiding there. Except, no matter how much I squint or tilt my head, I still can’t get it.”

“I know what you mean,” Mr. Shurley nods, “I’m supposed to be able to see all that’s to come, but recently whenever I try and look into the future there’s… there’s a fog. It’s like one of the many streams of time has been blocked up, and I’m not able to tell what’s causing it. And this overflow is affecting everything else.”

“Wait, your powers aren’t working?”

“Unfortunately,” Mr. Shurley sighs, “I can still see little things – enough to not make anyone worry but… I fear there’s something big coming. And taking me out of the game is a precaution. It’s bad enough we have a strict no-psychic policy, now there’s none of us here with me on the fritz.”

“Sorry if this is a bit rude but… why are you telling me all this?”

“I still have some of my abilities,” Mr. Shurley says, “And I get a sense that whatever will happen… you’ll be at the center of it.” Dean’s eyes widen, and he’s about to interject until his teacher’s hand on his stops him. “It could be nothing but… I wanted you to know this so you’d be prepared – maybe keep a closer eye on things. Tell me if you notice stuff that shouldn’t be there or… see strange happenings or whatever.” Dean glances at his bag, the symbol still pressing on his mind. “Can you promise to keep this between you and me for now? I know it’s a lot to ask – especially since you’re a student but… I don’t think we can trust _anyone_.”

“Anyone?” Dean repeats, “You mean I can’t even tell my Ma? I’m sure she’ll know –“

“If you bring her into this now there’s no telling if she’ll be safe, Dean,” Mr. Shurley says, “Until we know enough, this has to stay secret.”

“I… I guess,” Dean nods dumbly, body thrumming with an oncoming wave of fresh anxiety, “I don’t know how good I can be but… I’ll do it.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Mr. Shurley smiles gravely, “And please, believe me when I say I wish I didn’t have to ask this of you.”

“I get it, really.”

“Okay,” he stands, walking back to his desk, “You should probably be getting to your next class. Oh, and Dean,” he turns, locking gazes with him once more, “If you have your panic attack in here, at least seven people are going to see it. If you do it in the janitor’s closet three doors down, you’ll be fine.” Dean’s jaw drops. “What? I told you I still have some of my powers – and the janitor thing? That’s not my power, that’s from experience. Being a hero doesn’t exempt you from mental illness.” He finally leaves Dean, exiting the classroom.

Dean takes his word and makes haste towards the janitor’s closet before the attack could hit.

* * *

“Dean? Are you even listening?”

Castiel stares at him amusedly, watching from across the table as Dean shakes himself from his stupor. “I’m sorry, what?” Dean asks, pen still caught between his teeth.

“I asked if you needed any help with your assignment,” Castiel chuckles, “I had this class last year and can guide you towards the correct answers.”

“Oh, no that’s okay, I’m actually almost done with it.”

“Then what’s on your mind?” he asks, pushing aside his homework, “You seem to be… somewhere else?”

“Am I?” Dean grimaces, eyes flitting towards the table, “I… hadn’t noticed.”

Except he has – his thoughts had been drifting for quite some time now. Ever since Chuck pointed it out to him, the oddity of the Academy of Letters has transformed from a faded signpost on a guided trail to a blaring neon sign over an overpriced club. It’s become too hard to ignore, and at different times Dean finds himself turning over these strange clues in his head.

Like the students – for a group that is supposed to become superheroes in the future, it’s hard to find a heroic quality within them. Sometimes it feels like the campus is on the set of some basic cable television show with how much drama everyone gets wrapped up in. The only other setting besides drama was apathy. Even his friends aren’t immune from everything. Recently, there had been another Lockdown on Tuesday night. This time, Dean had been with everyone in the girls’ room. After calling Castiel to check up on him, he spent a lot of time trying to figure out what was happening. A half-hour spent on his phone and Dean still couldn’t figure out what crisis was keeping them holed away.

“What are you doing, Dean?” Jo asked from her bed, magazine folded in half.

Dean answered her, still staring at his phone, “Trying to see what’s going on out there.”

“Why?” Benny followed up with, “Not like it matters to us?”

“But aren’t you curious?” Dean finally turns to them, “Like, what if it’s something really bad? It could be global – maybe our families are in danger?”

“It’s more like a fire drill if anything,” Charlie had told him, “Stop worrying so much and get over here. I’m almost done setting up the board game.” Dean didn’t want to drop it at the time, but their cheery attitude dispelled any attempt he would have to dig deeper. But it all just kept adding up.

“Dean?”

“Sorry I was just thinking… about… Thanksgiving!” Dean yelps, forcing a tight smile, “It’s been such a busy semester, I can’t wait to go home and recharge, y’know?”

“I… actually wouldn’t,” Castiel confesses, thumbs twiddling together, “My family doesn’t celebrate that holiday, either.”

“Shit, right,” Dean says, dropping into a frown, “I thought that might be an okay one – all you do is eat –“

“Gluttonously, which is why Mother forbade the holiday,” Castiel shrugs, “I never much cared for it either, to be honest, with its tainted history and the capitalistic bloodbath that follows.”

“I… can see what you mean,” Dean shrugs, “But Thanksgiving is still fun. It’s another chance to hang with the family and just… be together. I can’t wait to see Ma and Sammy and Bobby… cooking the meal and baking the pies, watching everyone light up at the tastes – because of what _I_ did.” He’s smiling again, this time more genuine. Dean chances a glance at Castiel to see him staring, his jaw slightly open. “I mean… I’m sorry if I’m perpetuating a not-holiday, I just happen to enjoy it, y’know…”

“What? Oh, no, Dean, sorry, it’s,” Castiel huffs, glancing away, “I’ve never seen anyone draw this much happiness over something so… _simple_.”

Dean feels a warmth blossom in his chest, spreading up like bubbles to his neck and fingertips. “I love to cook, and I love making my family happy. Luckily those two things are very cause-and-effect.”  A question comes to mind. “So… what do you do for Thanksgiving?”

“Stay here,” Castiel confesses, “I have a perfunctory dinner with Michael and call Mother and Father. Other than that I do what I always do.”

“That’s… of course you do,” Dean sighs. He waits a beat, a small pebble of an idea forming in his mind. Once it takes on a more sturdy shape, Dean skips it across the divide toward Castiel. “Hey,” he starts, “Over break… you think you could do something for _me_?”

“What do you need?”

“I want you to try something new,” Dean tells him, “That isn’t for _training_ or _homework_. You gotta do it because it looked _interesting_ or _fun_.”

“I…” Castiel blanches, “I’m not sure –“

“Cas, c’mon!”

“I wouldn’t know where to begin –“

“You have time!” Dean laughs, “I’ll even let you do some research. Just stop thinking with this,” he points to his head, “and start thinking with this,” his finger trails down to his heart. Castiel watches him, blushing slightly.

He nods, “Um – yes, yes I believe I can do this.”

“And, to make it more tempting,” Dean continues, “I’ll even bring you a pie back. But you have to have done what I asked to have it.”

The other boy’s eyes have glazed over at the mention of Dean’s baking. “Then I most certainly will follow your orders,” Castiel laughs. He shifts his books so they’re in front of him once more, “Now, let’s carry on shall we? I feel we’ve gone wayward enough with our tasks.”

“Alright, Wayward Son…”

“Excuse me?”

“The song? By Kansas? Carry On My… you don’t know what I’m talking about do you?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“… _Cas_.”

* * *

The freighter waits for them once more. Like the first day of school, it’s sheer size overpowers the students nearby, making them all look like ants, However, now they enter en masse, dressed down to once more relax with their loved ones for the holiday.

Dean trails behind at the end. He’d been too busy cleaning the kitchen to notice the time. With the whirlwind of his past two weeks, his mind has been jumping to so many different things – and his departure time wasn’t one of them. If Castiel hadn’t journeyed downstairs for water, Dean might have missed the ride completely.

“What are you still doing here?” Castiel had asked, eyes wide at Dean’s appearance.

“Just whittlin’ away the time,” Dean said, “Y’know, until I have to leave?”

“Dean, you were supposed to be on line fifteen minutes ago?”

He bugged out, scrambling to find his phone. It was perched on the counter, his alarm _silently_ going off. “Shit!” Dean rips the gloves and apron off and flies towards his room, grabbing his backpack. Jumping down the stairs, he was almost out the door before one last thing comes to mind.

“Thanks Cas!” Dean said, hugging the other boy, “I’ll text you when I get there. Have fun this break – I mean it!” He doesn’t wait for his response, stampeding out onto the campus and towards where all the students were congregating.

Now, Dean’s not worried about having a seat. Jo had texted him saying they’ve saved one for him. But the unhurried way the guards herd them onto the ship eats away at Dean’s nerves. The extra time allows him to doubt himself, wondering whether he packed everything he needed. And after five minutes of not-moving, Dean succumbs and checks his bag. He’s parsing through his stuff when he feels the sharp pain needle at his brain.

“You alright there, Dean?”

“Jesus!” he bolts upright, tugging a notebook out in his stupor and letting it fall towards the floor. Michael smirks at him, eyes drawn to the book.

“Sorry if I _startled_ you,” Michael says, moving to pick up Dean’s book. He’s dressed for the cooler weather, in a smart suit, leather wingtips, a grey trench coat and expensive-looking leather gloves. Without asking, he begins flipping through the pages.

Dean notices Michael strangely pause on one page. His smirk drops into a grim line, and he glances up at him. Then it passes, his face returning to his usual countenance, although a bit dimmer. He hands Dean his book.

“Interesting stuff they’re teaching you,” Michael says, “If you’ll excuse me, I have to speak to a few of the guards. Just wanted to wish you a Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Thanks… you too.” Michael nods, turning away. Dean waits for him to get a safe distance before checking his notebook, tearing through pages, trying to find what Michael saw.

He stops on the page with his small doodle – the one of the sigil from his dream the other day. It makes no sense as to why Michael would stop here, but Dean has a gut feeling this is what he saw.

Which only begs the question… how does Michael know it?

He doesn’t have long to ponder it, the line finally moving forward once more, but the strange thread hangs at the back of his mind, untethered, among all the other ones Dean has been trying to connect for some time.

* * *

“I forgot how much I missed your cooking, Dean,” Bobby growls between bites, “There’s something you can do with spices that I can never just figure out.”

“Yeah,” Sam nods, eating with just as much fervor, “It’s been so long, Dean. I almost forgot what good food was like!”

“Really Sam?” Mary asks, shooting him a wry glance from over her fork.

“Right, sorry,” Sam smiles, “I didn’t mean to offend Ellen –“

Mary shoves him affectionately, returning to her own plate. Dean tries to enjoy the moment – their bonding, the jokes, the love – but his mind seems drawn to other things. Ever since he was dropped off in Lawrence, Dean has been focused on the new concerns his latest chat with Michael developed. His thoughts have been so jumbled lately he nearly burnt his pie.

Dean’s playing with his food, pushing it along his plate, when his name is mentioned. “Yeah?”

“Is everything alright?” Mary asks, “You’re not _usually_ this reserved… is it –“

“What? No, no, it’s not that,” Dean squashes the idea before it could really take form, “I’m just… thinking.”

“About what?”

“Well…” ‘ _About how there’s something going on at school, my Dean somehow knows about it, and everyone is in danger – even you – so normal stuff_ ’ “My friend, Cas,” he settles on, “Just wondering what he’s doing. He’s not going home.”

“Really?” Mary frowns, “Was there any reason?”

“His family doesn’t really _do_ Thanksgiving,” Dean shrugs, “He still has his brother there and he says they have dinner, but their mom… you know her actually.”

“I do?”

“Naomi?”

Bobby nearly chokes on his beer, coughing and waving away any concern. Mary turns her fretful gaze from him towards her son.

“Of course I do,” she starts, “A bit stiff but… you’re friends with her son?”

“Yeah, Cas – well… it’s Castiel, really,” Dean shrugs, “I heard she’s kinda stiff but she can’t be _that_ bad.”

“You’d be wrong, Dean,” Bobby says, “That woman was the coldest person I’ve ever met on the face of the Earth – the fact her powers are fire-based is laughable.”

“She was very _passionate_ about heroics,” Mary explains, “Almost everyone in her family was; great to have on your side in a battle but not the best conversationalist. She’d always say that any time spent not improving herself was –“

“Was time wasted,” Dean finishes, “Yeah, Cas said that a while back. I’ve been trying to break him of the habit.”

“More power to you, boy,” Bobby says, “Better he learns how to live _now_ or we might have a _second_ Novak son go off the deep end –“

“Bobby!” Mary glares at him, “Stop it, it wasn’t Naomi’s fault –“

“But did she do anything to help? No siree.”

Dean frowns, watching as his family turns on each other – the good feeling going up in smoke. “Wait,” he calls to them, “What are you talking about? Is it – is it Michael?”

“Michael? Just what are you on about?” Bobby asks, “We’re talking about the other Novak boy – _Lucifer._ ” Forks drop at the mention of his name, and Dean feels his appetite start to sour.

“Lucifer?” Dean asks, “What does he have to do with any of this?”

“Well, Dean, it’s like this,” Mary starts to explain, “Michael and Castiel have another brother – Nick Novak. He’s Michael’s twin. Bobby and I knew them back when we were still active members of the League, they actually used to live on campus.”

“I always knew that boy was trouble,” Bobby adds, “Found him in the weirdest places, getting on everyone’s nerves.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Mary continues, “it all started fairly early in Michael’s career, years after I retired. There was talk of a huge crime syndicate headed by a man named Lucifer. We didn’t know what was going on – every time the League seemed to be on them, they were really two steps ahead. There were whispers of a mole but… the truth was much more painful.”

“It was our friend Pamela who figured him out,” Bobby sighed, “Boy got sloppy, and she was able to get a glance into his mind. When she saw what he was doin’, she immediately sent the alarm out to _all_ of us. Only when she did, he knew and… you know.” Dean does, remembering being there outside the hospital room as Mary and John and Bobby made the decision to take her off life support. Even in his young age he had some idea what the grown-ups were talking about, and did his best to distract Sam so he never had to find out.

“That was the Day of 100 Devils,” Mary says, “Lucifer’s empire attacked – and it took all of us working together to fight them back. Only Michael was able to defeat Nick, and doing so made him the greatest among us.” She turns back to her food, now cold, and does just as Dean had with it.

He knew about Lucifer – everyone did. Not only was he the worst villain modern day heroes have ever-faced, he single handedly ruined the reputation of any and all people born with psychic abilities. But now, knowing he was once Nick Novak, history takes on a deeper context.

“So,” Bobby says, pushing his plate away, “Who’s in the mood for some pie? Dean?”

For once… he isn’t.


	10. A Finals Crisis

Castiel and Dean’s table is cluttered with open textbooks, half-empty snack bags, and red solo cups. Beside the two boys, Charlie, Jo, Benny, and surprisingly Gabriel join them. (“What?” Gabriel had barked, walking into the room, “And miss a free study session from Mr. Brainiac? Not a chance!”) But after three hours, the group sans Castiel lie slumped over, burnt out – Dean especially. His mind still reels from Thanksgiving, turning the story over in his mind. He hasn’t been able to focus all too well, and the group cramming was putting unnecessary pressure on his already pained brain.

“I’m so confused,” Jo sighs, pushing her books into the center pile, “Why does LaMort gotta be so harsh?”

Gabriel leans in to her, wiggling his eyebrows, “You could say she’s like… rigor-mort-us!” Everyone groans at his response, and Jo attempts beating him into submission with his notebook. “Alright, alright, you don’t like good humor – I get it!”

“Settle down everybody,” Castiel stops them, snatching the notebook from Jo’s hands, “Jo, LaMort has a pattern with her questions – let me show you…” He takes his seat next to her, going over the set of problems once more. Even in his exasperation, Dean still finds the sight heart-warming.

At first the others were wary of Dean’s newfound friendship with Castiel. Benny, Charlie, and Jo especially, kept mostly to themselves when Dean would drag him along on their hangouts. But unlike the first attempt, Castiel had warmed up considerably, and did his best to win them over. Charlie was the first, physically incapable of holding onto any negative feelings. Following her was Benny, who had only accepted the other boy after a quick interrogation of Dean. “I can see what you’re doing,” he had called him out, “And if he makes you happy, who am I to stand in your way?” There’s still a ways to go with Jo, but noticeable progress has been made.

“Why do we have finals anyway?” Benny asks, “S’it gonna matter if I can solve for x when I’m facing down a mob of crooks?”

“Exams are a healthy part of any school curriculum,” Castiel tells him, “The Academy wouldn’t be doing us justice if they didn’t test our abilities.”

Benny hees and haws, but ultimately agrees with his point. “Still, that makes sense for our hero classes,” Benny continues, “I don’t think I’ll ever need to find the square root of a giant robot!” The group chuckles lightly.

“You never know,” Charlie sing-songs to him, “Maybe your _secret identity_ will be a mathematician? Solving equations by day and fighting crime by night!”

“Aw no,” Benny laughs, “If anything I’ll be owning my restaurant down on the Bayou. Serving up gumbo and good ol’ vampire justice!”

“Ooo, is this what we’re doing now? I wanna go I wanna go!” Gabriel bounces in his seat, “When I grow up, I’ll be starring in my own reality show! It’ll be like Kim Kardashian-meets-Archangel, and we’ll call it… _Trickster_.”

“Like anyone will wanna watch you, doofus,” Jo snickers, shoving him.

“Oh yeah?” Gabriel challenges, “And just what will you do when you’re not heroing?”

“Probably running the family restaurant,” Jo shrugs, “But that won’t be a long time. First I’m gonna travel the world – helping those who need it.”

“That’s very admirable, Jo,” Castiel smiles, “I hope you do well on your journeys.”

“I ain’t leaving yet, Novak,” Jo smirks, “Can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“What about the rest of you?” Gabriel turns to them, “You can’t _not_ have thought about it.”

“Or course I have,” Charlie snorts, “You’re looking at the next big thing to hit Silicon Valley, Gabe! Once I get out of here, I’ll be leaving all those other boys in my _dust_.”

“My little honey pot,” Jo reaches over to pet her hand, “When you’re rich and powerful, will you do me the honor of being my sugar mama?”

“Of course!” Charlie giggles, “Sugar for everyone!” Benny and Gabriel whoop loudly at this, while Dean laughs quietly from behind his hand. Castiel looks on confused.

“Anyway,” Benny drags the attention away from Charlie, “Castiel? You got any plans for a double life?”

Castiel shakes his head, “I intend on doing heroics full-time. Like all members of my family… we don’t have time for other jobs.”

“Really?” Jo asks, “But Michael’s the Dean?”

“That’s still in line with his being a hero – leading the League of Letters requires he also be Dean of Students here. So maybe,” Castiel smiles, small and to himself, “I wouldn’t mind being a teacher. I quite enjoy the simplicity of it – sharing knowledge… the schedules… the grading –“

“Of course,” Gabriel groans, “You _would_ enjoy doing all that.”

“Hey,” Dean calls him out, “It beats yours Mr. Reality TV.”

“I’m sure my plans are better than _yours_ Winchester,” Gabriel smiles, “Which, by the way, are…?”

Dean shrinks in on himself, the center of the conversation finally finding its way towards him. “Well, um… it’s really not that special,” he stumbles through, scratching at his neck.

“Come on, Dean, we all told you ours,” Jo joins in, “Only fair we hear yours.”

“I mean… yeah,” Dean sits on it for a few more beats. “Alright,” he sighs, “I was thinking in the same vein as Cas, really. I’m gonna be a hero full-time but… down the line? I want to be a dad.” Charlie coos from next to him. He blushes, “Yeah, I know, it’s stupid –“

“It’s not though Dean,” Castiel says, “Being a father is a respectable career choice.”

“But you could be anything you want, Dean,” Gabriel pushes, leaning forward, “You could be an engineer, a model – hell, you could run this place one day. Why stop at dad?”

“It’s… it’s a long story.” Dean doesn’t want to tell them how he stepped up after John died. How much it hurt to have his own father taken away – to watch his family suffer. The warmth that blossomed from making Mary or Sam smile when it seemed they couldn’t work up the energy, putting their needs before his own. To him, being a parent is the best kind of hero there is.

“You don’t have to tell us,” Castiel says, breaking the silence, “We’ve already deviated enough from our studies. We’ll need to stay up even later to keep up with the schedule I made for today.” Everyone groans, drawn away from Dean towards Castiel. He sends the other boy a grateful smile; glad the pressure to answer was removed.

‘ _Still_ ,’ he thinks, ‘ _It was nice remembering_.’ The driving force behind his dream is Dean’s desire to take care of everyone – keep them safe and happy. It boosts him up and draws forth a renewed energy. ‘ _I was born a shield_ ,’ Dean thinks, glancing around at his friends, ‘ _I protect… and I’m gonna do my best to save everyone from whatever’s going on here_.’

The mystery doesn’t seem as daunting anymore.

* * *

“Alright, kids, you can go on with your day,” Mr. Shurley says from behind his desk, “I hope you learned from your mistakes, but since I’m… well, _me_ , I know I’ll be seeing a lot of familiar faces _tomorrow_.” Dean sighs, packing his bag. He didn’t mean to get detention again – but for once it wasn’t his fault.

Dean had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He had been rounding the corner just as Gabriel was, and they knocked into each other. Dean had sent Gabriel sprawling to the floor, his bag bursting open. “Shit, let me help,” he said, bending down to pick it all up. The smaller boy recovers, and nervously looks around.

“No, Dean it’s fine,” he told him, “You should go, really.”

“Gabe, I got this –“

“Dean, seriously , get out of here –“

“Caught you red-handed!”

They both turn to where Alistair jogs up to them. He snatched up a can of spray paint that escaped Dean’s notice. “I knew you wouldn’t get away,” the janitor wheezed, “Both of you – detention!”

“What?” Dean yelped, “But I didn’t do anything!”

“Sure you didn’t,” Alistair said sarcastically, “I know all about you Winchester –you’re on a real slippery slope, you are. Now get, both of you!”

Dean swings his bag onto his shoulder, looking for Gabriel. There doesn’t seem to be anyone left besides him and Mr. Shurley. He’s about to make his exit when his teacher motions him forward.

“Dean,” he starts, “Have you made any… progress with your extra credit assignment?” Mr. Shurley looks around the room conspiratorially, whispering.

He rolls his eyes, but answers, “Somewhat. I definitely noticed more weird stuff here but…” he bites his lip, considering whether or not to tell him, “Okay, I think I might have an idea… I just don’t know if you’ll like it.”

“Pitch it to me.”

“Well,” Dean says, playing with his strap. He sighs and swings his bag forward, digging around for his notebook. “A few weeks back, I had this dream. I don’t remember much of it but there was a guy there, and on his hand he had… well, he had this carved into the palm,” he flashes the symbol to Mr. Shurley. His teacher’s eyes widen at the sight, and he unfortunately feels he’s stumbled onto the right path.

“Are you sure you saw this exact symbol?” Mr. Shurley asked him.

“Yeah,” Dean nods, “What’s more is Michael saw this and he… he visibly reacted to it.”

“Of course he would,” Mr. Shurley sighs, leaning back against his desk, “It’s not every day you get a reminder of your brother.”

“So this is tied back to Lucif – I mean… Nick Novak?” Dean asks, leaning forward, “I heard about him over break, asked my Ma and Bobby. Fighting your own brother… I wouldn’t know what I’d do if Sammy ever went evil like that.”

“This is bad, Dean,” Mr. Shurley says, whacking the notebook against his palm rhythmically, “very, very bad.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nick shouldn’t be able to do this,” he explains, “He’s locked away somewhere far… and where his powers… although…”

“Although what?”

“I should have known it wouldn’t hold him for long,” Mr. Shurley chuckles darkly, “He was always growing by leaps and bounds…”

“Mr. Shurley,” Dean growls, “I need you to stop trailing off and start giving me answers!” The wiry teacher takes a step back, staring at Dean with wide eyes. He drums his fingers against Dean’s notebook for a beat before sighing, tension seeping out his body like a gaping wound.

“Sorry,” Mr. Shurley tells him, “Sometimes I get ahead of myself… I forget other people can’t follow along and – it only happens when I’m nervous.”

“Why are you nervous?”

“Lucifer,” Mr. Shurley says, “When we captured him he was the most powerful psychic on the planet, and if he’s able to do what he’s doing now… then he’ll be even stronger than last time.”

“How do you know this?”

“Because I was the one who trained him,” Mr. Shurley confesses. Dean takes a step back, startled. “He and Michael were technically the first students of the Academy – even before it was a thing. Where his brother would spend time sparring with Jody, Nick would come to me. I tried to tell him I wouldn’t be of much help – Pam was the _real_ psychic. But he wouldn’t take no for an answer so I… I did my best. I taught him some meditation and introspection, just your basic techniques to strengthen the mind. I should have known, though… I should have seen how he was _using_ me…” Mr. Shurley collapses onto his chair, hands wringing his hair.

Dean wants to reach out, to offer some form of comfort, but doesn’t know what he can say that could salve the badly healed scar. He understands what it feels like to blame yourself for something out of your control. It was obvious to Dean now that even though Chuck Shurley’s nickname was God… he was just a man. And no man is infallible.

“I… I should really get going,” Dean says, slowly reaching for his notebook. Mr. Shurley looks up, still pained, trying to hide it.

“Right, right,” he coughs, turning away, “Dean I… thank you. You don’t have to… it might be too dangerous.”

“No, I’m still in this,” Dean says, “I don’t care how powerful Nick might be… I’m not backing down.”

“You’re stubborn you know that?”

Dean shrugs, “Gotten me this far.”

Mr. Shurley lets out an exasperated laugh. “Get out of here.”

He leaves him in the detention room, walking back towards his suite, wary of every little thing around him. ‘ _Can’t get scared now_ ,’ he thinks, ‘ _I dug myself into this mess, and I still have ways to go until I reach the bottom_.’

* * *

Today, Dean needed to push his worries towards the back of his mind. He’s sitting on a nearby bench, dressed in his costume, hunched over and trying to compartmentalize. ‘ _One-one-two, One-two-two, One-three-two, Out._ ’ Around him, other students dressed in their costumes milled about, each similarly nervous. Although the reason for their worry was something far more average than Dean’s.

“You look like you’re ready to pass out,” Jo sidles up to him, Castiel in tow. Her outfit was a deep purple, with no sleeves and thick combat boots. There were knives attached to holsters all over her body, and two guns at her side. Her usual blonde hair was pulled taut in a ponytail, and the domino mask complemented her costume. Castiel’s costume was much brighter than hers. He wore blue-and-white spandex and kevlar with a yellow circle in the middle. Unlike his brother, he had forgone the cape for a yellow trench coat like covering.

“Maybe I am,” Dean tries to chuckle, “At least I won’t be able to take the exam then.” Their Combat & Danger class was gearing up for their first final – an exercise in the simulation room. Each student had five minutes to find and save a ‘civilian’ in a crisis situation. They had to prepare to handle anything, and the thought of what he might face had kept him up at night. He was good in most disaster environments save one really.

He skipped the class on Wildfires & Arson.

“You’ll do great, Dean,” Castiel says, rubbing a friendly hand on his shoulder, “There’s no doubt you’ll pass with an above-average grade.”

“You flatter me Cas,” smiles weakly, “If only I could be as confident as you right now.”

“Then let me be confident for the both of us,” Castiel shrugs, returning Dean’s smile with a grin of his own. Dean’s heart starts fluttering for all the _right_ reasons then, using Castiel to ease his mind. With their help, he manages to stand, and he grabs his shield and sword from where he dropped them. He’s ready by the time Jody walks into the room.

“Okay,” she claps, drawing their attention, “Welcome everyone to our first final in Combat & Danger. I’m so glad to see all of you here. Now before we begin, I want to go over the rules one last time. So, you will have five minutes and five minutes only to rescue the civilian. There is no overtime. I will determine your grade based on wherever you are in the simulation. If at any time you need time called early, just call out “Sherriff”, that should deactivate the simulator and bring you back. Now, to start…” she looks to the back of the room, “Dean Winchester.”

“Christ,” Dean mutters, stepping forward. He turns behind to see both Jo and Castiel giving him big smiles, and focuses on that instead of the nerves. Dean makes it over to Ms. Mills.

“Dean,” she says, “For your final, you’ll be saving someone from a collapsing building in an earthquake. Be quick, be ready, and good luck.” Dean nods to her before exiting into the simulation room.

It’s fairly large, and plain white with simple lines drawn all around it. At first, Dean wasn’t sure how good the holograms would be in such a space. But after a few classes, he’s come to not underestimate what the room could come up with.

“Ready Dean?” Jody calls from a nearby intercom.

“Ready!”

“Beginning simulation.” The white disappears, fading into an eerie night sky and a set of warehouses. Dean falters at first, not expecting to see so many buildings. He keeps moving forward, however, not wanting to waste time questioning Ms. Mills’s choice. Entering the closest structure, Dean keeps his eyes and ears focused. He walks on heavy feet, waiting for the first quake.

“Hello?” Dean asks, “Anyone here?” The interior is massive, stuffed with empty shipping containers and rotted crates. There’s a suspicious leak that _drip drip drips_ , casting an even tenser scene for him to walk through. ‘ _Come on_ ,’ he thinks, checking behind another box, ‘ _Where are you so I can get the_ ** _fuck_** _out of here?_ ’

Dean sees him finally in the middle of the room. There hasn’t been any rumbling yet, and he figures it’ll begin once he reaches the simulated bystander. “Sir?” Dean calls to him, walking forward, “Sir I’m going to need you to come with me.” The hologram doesn’t turn around, ignoring him. He has his back turned to Dean, an expensive looking suit jacket with matching pants, and really dirty sneakers on. ‘ _How does a computer come up with this junk_?’

“Sir?” Dean tries again, “Can you hear me?”

_Flick_

Dean stops in his tracks, gaze locked onto where the man holds a glowing lighter. He caps it, and then _flicks_ it back to life – playing with the lighter, playing with _Dean_.

“…Sir?”

“Isn’t it weird how history repeats itself, Dean?” the man starts, voice grating and whiny. Dean feels the unease hit him at full force, aware that something is wrong. In all his times in the simulation room, none of the holograms ever spoke. The man finally stops playing with his lighter, keeping it lit, and turns.

Dean’s stomach drops when he notices his yellow eyes.

“No…”

“Let’s see if you’ve learned from daddy’s _mistakes_ ,” Yellow Eyes growls, grinning as he drops the lighter and sends a torrent of fire towards Dean. He drops at the last second, the flames biting too close and too hot to _not_ be holograms.

“What are you doing here?” Dean asks, “This wasn’t supposed to be part of the test!”

“Things hardly ever go as planned Dean,” Yellow Eyes says, pushing forward, “Did I _plan_ to get captured that night? No. Did I _plan_ for your mom taking me down? No,” he chuckles, “Did you plan to _die_ today? Probably not.” He sends another column of fire at him. Dean rolls out of the way and towards his feet. Yellow Eyes follows the column up with a barrage of fireballs, which Dean dodges with seconds to spare. The last one he blocks with his shield, the embers fanning out all across the smooth surface.

“You’re not _real_!” Dean cries, swinging his sword into Yellow Eyes. It cuts right through him, but he stands there – unharmed. Dean freezes, unsure of what to do next.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily, Dean,” Yellow Eyes chides, knocking Dean back in his stupor. He falls to the floor while the other man advances. “We don’t need your silly sword,” he kicks it away, “Or your shield,” that too, “It’s just you and me in here.” Yellow Eyes leans in close, enough that Dean can see just how frightful his eyes glow, and the rotted smell of his teeth.

“Please,” Dean whimpers, “I want out – Sherriff! _Sherriff!_ ”

“That’s not going to work, Dean,” Yellow Eyes whispers, “Don’t you see? This is it – the last hurrah. Going down just like your daddy… don’t you feel it; that heat dancing all around you? We’re in _hell_ now!” Dean darts his eyes around as the fire quickly engulfs the warehouse. It crawls itself up towards the roof. There’s a lot of smoke now, and like the creature he is Yellow Eyes emerges from out behind it.

“No, no,” Dean cries, curling in on himself, “Nonononononono.” ‘ _It’s too tight it’s too warm I’m going to die D O N ‘ T Y O U W A N T T H A T ? Not like this, I’m too young J U S T L I K E D A D D Y One-one-two, One-two-two, One-three-two Dad Dad save me please Daddy Not like this NOT LIKE THIS_ ’

He can’t breathe, swept up in the chaos of his mind like an overturned boat on the rapids. There’s too much going on. Dean can hear other voices, mixing with the ones in his head. “This shouldn’t be happening!” “It’s not working!” “Oh God!” “He’s gonna die!” “What are you doing!”

“DEAN!”

There’s a bright flash of light.

And then he loses consciousness.


	11. Freaky Friday

‘ _What’s that awful beeping sound_?’

Dean tries to blink past the heavy weight on his eyelids. Although once he does, the bright lights waiting for him on the other side make him wish he hadn’t. “Where,” he starts, voice raspy, “Where am I?”

“Dean!”

He startles, Castiel leaning too close, usually calm façade etched in worry. He’s still in his costume, now rumpled and sweaty in places, and his hair sticks up from different angles. “Dean,” he continues, “You’re awake – are you all right… do you need me to get any –“

“Slow down, slow down,” Dean stops him, dizzy, “What… what happened?”

“You… you don’t remember?”

Dean shakes his head no, watching as Castiel shifts through a flurry of emotions. He’s never seen the boy so open, and wonders what exactly it was that broke apart his mask. Castiel looks anywhere but at Dean, edging around the issue, clearly telling him something happened with everything but his words.

“Cas, can you just be straight –“

_Flick_

It all pours back into him, all at once, too quickly, his mind overflowing with memories: of the final, the warehouse, Azazel, _fire fire fire –_

“Someone! We need someone!”

Two medics come rushing in at the sound of Dean’s increased heartbeat. While one starts checking Dean over as he hyperventilates, the other addresses Castiel.

“Sir,” the nurse dealing with Dean starts, “I’m gonna inject you with some –“

“No! No…” Dean pushes her back, “N-need… n-need…”

“This is exactly what you need,” she tries forcing the syringe closer to the bag hanging above Dean’s head. He knocks it out of her hand, curling up in on himself.

“If you don’t cooperate I will have to bind you –“

“Just what do you think you’re doing?”

Everyone stops to stare at the pure fury of Mary Winchester standing at the door’s entrance. She glares at the nurse, reducing her to a ruffled mess.

“He wasn’t cooperating,” she explains, “He’s not calming down so I was going to inject –“

“You will do no such thing,” Mary says, pushing her way past the medic towards Dean. He shakes, rocking back and forth, mumbling to himself. Mary takes a seat on the bed, turning him more towards her. “Dean, Dean,” she whispers, “What’s wrong?”

“Need… need,” he sucks in a breath, “One… one-two…”

“One-one-two, One-two-two, come on say it with me now, One-three-two, Out.” Mary repeats Dean’s mantra alongside him, helping until his heart starts beating in time with his words. He calms down considerably, sagging into Mary’s embrace. “That’s it, Dean, easy now. You’re safe.” She hardens her soft gaze on the medics, “If you could please leave?”

They don’t waste time, fleeing past Sam who stands guard in the open doorway. When they leave, he closes the door behind him, leaving only the Winchesters and Castiel in the room. However, Mary moves to him now. “I said I’d like to be alone with my son?”

“Oh, my apologies,” Castiel says, looking to Dean, “I can just…”

“No, Cas,” Dean rasps, craning his head towards him, “You can… stay.” Mary turns to him, a question waiting behind her eyes. He’s too tired to stop her, but thankfully Sam comes in at the right time. Unfortunately ‘ _the little sneak_ ’ knows exactly _why_ Dean wants Castiel to stay.

“He’s Dean’s _friend_ , Mom,” Sam says, grinning in Dean’s direction. He barely has enough energy to give him the finger… but he thinks it. Sam’s grin falls into a familiar frown.

“Yes,” Castiel extends his hand, “Hello, I’m Castiel Novak –“

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Mary says, taking his hand, “It’s nice finally meeting you.”

“Likewise,” Castiel nods, turning to Sam, “And you must be Sam.” The younger boy takes his hand enthusiastically, “It sure is!”

“Sam…”

“What, Dean,” Sam sighs, “I didn’t do anything!”

“…Yet.”

“And I thought _I_ was the psychic one.”

“Boys,” Mary chastises them, “Could you please save your bickering for when we’re _out_ of the infirmary?”

They apologize, each chasten in their looks. Dean moves his gaze over to Castiel to see the other boy watching him softly. He blushes at the attention. “Anyway,” Dean says, “What are you guys doing here?”

“We got a call from Jody telling us what happened,” Mary tells him, “My brave little boy… I’m so sorry that had to happen to you.” She pulls Dean into a tight hug, “You say the word and I can pull you out – no problem. There’s always next year –“

“No, Ma,” Dean fights back, “It’s… I’m fine. Just got knocked out for a bit.”

“A bit?” Sam scoffs, “Dean you’ve been out for a day.”

“What?” Dean yelps. He turns to Castiel, “Is that true?”

“I – uh… yes?” Castiel says, “The shock put your body through a lot… and the medics thought it best to keep you under.”

“Great,” Dean sighs, “A whole day gone… just what I needed.”

“Dean your teachers understand,” Mary tells him, “What happened, with the simulation room malfunctioning –“

“I’m afraid it wasn’t a malfunction.”

Everyone looks to Michael as he enters, a grim set to his features.

“What are you talking about?” Mary asks, eyes flitting from her son to Michael, “If it didn’t malfunction then what was it?”

“It seems Mr. Winchester was the target for a very serious prank,” Michael tells them all, “We have reason to believe someone had tampered with the simulation room’s controls the night prior so when it was Dean’s turn, the program that played was… well – I’d rather not rehash it.”

Dean’s body numbs at the thought someone _willingly_ put his life at risk. That he’s still here today proves miracles do exist, but the notion that perpetrator might try again hangs darkly over his head like Damocles’ sword. Either bullying has just gotten worse at the Academy… or Dean has stumbled upon something he shouldn’t have.

And the splitting headache he has tells him it’s the latter.

“So what?” Mary continues, “Someone here has it out for my boy?”

“Rest assured, Mary, we’ll be doing everything in our power to make sure Dean is _safe_ and the guilty party is caught and punished,” Michael says, “Until now we can only sit here and wait…” He trails off, refocusing his attention on Sam.

Dean’s brother has a sour look on his face, one that reminds him of when Sam lost his shoe all those years ago. He’s stiff, staring down Michael as if in a challenge.

“I’m sorry,” Michael smiles, pained, “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m Michael,” he holds his hand out for Sam to take. All the younger Winchester does is stare at it.

“Sam,” Mary needles, “Don’t be rude.” Sam takes it for a perfunctory shake, squeezing harder than necessary. Michael might be trying to hide it, but even Dean can make out the stormy clouds over taking his eyes.

“Anyway,” he grits out, “I just wanted to inform you of the latest news. I better be on my way.” He moves to Castiel, smiling, “And you, don’t think I forgot about you. Tomorrow we’ll be celebrating with the other members.” Michael bids them all one final farewell, leaving them.

“What’s he talkin’ ‘bout, Cas?” Dean asks, distractedly, “What are you celebrating?”

“Well, um,” Castiel glances at his feet, playing with his fingers, “There were difficulties getting you out so I – uh… I took matters into my own hands.” He then begins recounting the story, of how he saved Dean. Jody couldn’t stop the simulation, nor unlock the door. The class was panicking, watching as the fire inched closer towards Dean’s prone body. “I don’t know what came over me,” Castiel confesses, “But I flew into action… I burst through the door and…” He glided in, pouring light from every inch of his skin. Castiel made it to the center of the room and released a burst so bright and powerful it shorted out the room’s technology. When it was over, Castiel lowered down to where Dean had passed out. He picked him up and carried him out and towards the medical wing.

“Cas…” Dean starts, voice thick with gratitude, “I can’t… _thank you_.”

“Dean, please,” Castiel blushes, “I’m sure any student –“

“But none of them did,” he talks over him, “ _you_ did.” They’re staring at each other, and Dean feels something blooming from within his chest at how Castiel’s eyes seem to shine even without help from his powers.

Mary coughs, shattering the moment between them. He looks to her and notices her smile was just as evil as the one Sam had when he laid eyes on him and Castiel.

“Castiel?” she asks him, “Would you mind showing me where the bathroom is? It’s been ages since I’ve been here…” ‘ _Smooth, Ma_.’

“Oh, of course!” Castiel nods, “Dean, I’ll be right back – it’s just this way.” He exits ahead of Mary, allowing her the perfect opportunity to wink at him over his shoulder. He sighs, rubbing at his aching head.

There’s no moment of respite, however, as Sam quickly moves over to him. “Dean,” he whispers, “Is everything okay here?”

Dean raises a brow, “Besides the attempt on my life?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “C’mon,” he says, “You can’t keep your thoughts from me – especially without your amulet.”

“Without my – what?” Dean looks to his neck, where his necklace should have been, “Where is it!”

“It’s probably where your uniform and weapons are,” Sam calms him, “They told us we could collect your things when you leave, but I think you should get _that_ back ASAP.”

“ASAP? What do you mean?”

“Didn’t you even think to look up what I gave you?”

“No?” Dean shrugs, “It looked cool and all… thought you got it from Hot Topic or something…”

“Dean, it’s a protection amulet,” Sam tells him, “I had Bobby help me find it. Supposed to keep you safe from,” he looks around before poking at his temple, “ _intrustions_.”

“Wait,” Dean stops him; “You put a mental jammer on my thoughts?”

“You’re not one to think cautiously,” Sam says, “I figured you’d have the wrong thought at the wrong time and offend some poor psychic –“

“Glad to see you have so much faith in me,” Dean grumbles, crossing his arms, “Not like I’d ever get the chance to use it. Apparently it’s a rule that there’re no psychics enrolled as students.”

“And the staff?”

“Well we have Chuck but he’s like pseudo-psychic…” Dean trails off, glancing at Sam’s serious expression, “What are you getting at?”

“When Michael walked in here, I… I don’t know, I felt this – this weird energy,” Sam explains, “Like someone trying to barge into a locked door, except the door is inside my mind. It was… it was pretty strong. Nothing got in, but I sent the blast back out and –“

“You saw his face, too,” Dean finishes, eyes widening at the realization. “You don’t think,” Dean starts, biting at his lip, “Nick Novak had psychic powers, too. They were twins –“

“But why would Michael ban psychics? Why not be open about his powers?”

“Something weird is going on here, Sam,” Dean confesses, “I don’t know what it is, but –“

“But you’ve gotten yourself involved,” Sam sighs, “And you’re seeing it through ‘till the end, aren’t you?”

“Please don’t tell Ma.”

“I won’t,” Sam says, “But please, don’t take too many risks. I know you’re invincible but…even the toughest metals have their breaking point.”

When Mary and Castiel return, it’s like their conversation never happened.

* * *

The amulet dangles from the leather cord Dean holds tight in his hand. He examines it closely, trying to see how such a small thing has been shielding his brain from the psychic onslaughts he’d been receiving all semester. Once Sam had mentioned the possibility, Dean started to connect the threads he’d been collecting.

Sam thinks Michael is a psychic. Dean wore something that would keep psychic’s from poking around in his brain. He’d always experience pain in the Michael’s presence. ‘ _It’s not much_ ,’ he thinks, ‘ _But it’s a start_.’

And Dean has a lot of time now to take the start further, as he’s been put on bed rest for the remainder of the semester. Mary was ready to take him out, but Dean managed to convince her that he’d be fine doing the homework from his suite. Castiel promising to take care of him was the cherry on top that pushed the argument in their favor. But for her and Sam to fully leave, Dean had to promise to call her if any more trouble happened. He avoided Sam’s gaze as he agreed.

There was still homework to get done, even in the days leading up to winter vacation. His friends were kind enough to bring him up to speed and keep him company. Jo, Charlie, Benny, even Gabriel and Balthazar stopped by to see how he was doing. However, their arrival was more to do with the fact that gossip needed spreading.

“Dean! Dean! You’ll never guess what happened!” Gabriel had shouted, slamming the door to his room open two days ago. He put his books down and gave the shorter boy his attention just as Castiel followed in behind a haggard Balthazar.

“I told them to be quiet, Dean,” he groused, knocking the two boys back, “You were probably resting –“

“It’s cool, Cas,” Dean said, “Now, what is it I won’t guess?”

“Ketch? He got _in-school suspension_!”

Dean and Castiel both exchanged shocked looks. “What,” Dean tried to speak, “What do you mean?”

“The bloody idiot, and I use that term loosely, was caught in the simulation room the day before,” Balthazar said, “Apparently _he_ was the one who messed with your final.” If Dean’s eyes could have burst any wider they’d have popped out of his skull.

“It was Ketch?” Castiel had growled, “And he was only _suspended_?” He turned on his heel, ready to leave, only stopping when Gabriel grabbed his arm.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“To see my brother,” he said, “Tell him his punitive system is in need of an overhaul.” Castiel tried to break free, but Gabriel quickly shifted into a snake and coiled tight around his body.

“Hey!” he called to Dean, “Tell your boy toy to cool it will ya!” He barely heeded the order, too lost in his thoughts. The idea that Ketch was the one who sabotaged him didn’t sit right then, and still doesn’t now. He might not have been with him for a long time, but Dean figured he knew the other boy well enough to know he’d never get his hands dirty if he didn’t have to. Sneaking in somewhere was too great a risk, even with his invisibility powers. And for the fact that tampering with the equipment was next to impossible.

“I don’t know what could have happened,” Jody had said, talking with Miss Hanscum near the infirmary as Dean checked out, “The only one who has clearance to activate and change the simulation room is _me_.”

These clues only lean more heavily in the fact that the reason for Dean’s newfound bull’s-eye was due to his investigation.

And the fact he’s digging deeper is making the target on his back grow even larger.

Dean shakes away the thoughts, slipping the amulet back over his neck. He pulls up his phone, checking the time. Castiel said he’d be back around three-thirty. Even though he’s been keeping close tabs on Dean, Castiel still attends his classes – as well as meetings to prepare him for membership into the League after the semester wraps up.

Castiel broke the news to him the day after his ‘celebration’. In reality, it was a welcome party. His actions to save Dean had impressed the members greatly, and they said he demonstrated just what it took to be a hero. “This was Michael’s plan after all,” Castiel told him, sagging onto his bed, “He’s been pushing me to graduate early ever since the semester started so I could join the League. I told him I would wait, that I wasn’t necessary now but… everyone else seemed to agree with him.”

‘ _Sucks he’ll barely be here,_ ’ Dean thinks, the Cas-sized hole in his heart aching just like before when he first heard the news, ‘ _But I can’t think about that now. This is an opportunity._ ’ He pushes the sadness to the background and reaches for his laptop.

There are already a few tabs open from the last time he researched. The Internet, although stuffed full of information, was a tricky thing to navigate. He’s already gone down a few dead ends because of the wrong choice of words. However, from all of that, he was able to find a few things.

Like more information on the ‘Day of 100 Devils’. Wikipedia was a great deal of help – and each little footnote gave him a better idea of what happened that day. Apparently, all across America, cells of Lucifer’s agents started up these weird engine sites called ‘Hell Gates’, that were supposed to dig deep into the Earth’s crust. The resulting vibrations would be enough to shatter the continents and cause millions of deaths immediately and eventually bring chaos and destruction to the rest of the world. The main battle, however, took place in an undisclosed cemetery in Kansas. It doesn’t surprise him to see his parents’ names and Bobby’s in the final battle’s details – his family never one to take a backseat to the action. Especially when the fighting is in _their_ backyard.

There’s not much on Lucifer and Michael’s power set, though; nothing more than the basics. A few blogs about Michael that were too fanatical to be comfortable, and thought-pieces by anti-psychic activists who used Lucifer as an example to trash on other psychic people.

He was edging towards the end of his patience, having spent nearly all his free time researching. This wasn’t his strong suit – more Sam’s thing. Dean would rather be out, talking to others, seeing what he could find. But because of his status, his laptop and the digital catalogue of the Academy’s archive will have to do.

Soon enough, he stumbles upon something that piques his interest. There’s a video, tinny and a little blurry, that details the final battle. ‘ _Of course someone would try and shoot this_ ,’ he thinks, ‘ _Hell of a story_.’ Dean clicks the link, waiting as it loads.

The starting image is a large explosion, blowing bits of dirt and headstone everywhere. The camera pans away, showing different groups engaged in battle. He recognizes the heroes easily, but doesn’t focus too long on them (save his father, for a few seconds). He pulls the little button along, trying to find the moment the cameraperson caught Michael and Lucifer.

It happens at the seven-minute mark. Twin blurs slam down into an open field, kicking up dust and an epic wind. The camera slips, and when it’s righted, the brothers stand apart on an open field.

“It doesn’t have to be this way, Nick!” Michael yells, younger and serious-looking, “You can end this all, now!”

“Would you just listen to yourself?” Nick growls, “You’re a cliché! I have to do this – it’s how it goes. There’s people like you,” he grins, “And winners like _me_.” Lucifer throws himself forward, and the brothers return to the skies to battle.

Dean rewinds and pauses at the clearest shot of Nick’s face. His smile – wide and predatory – struck a chord within him. He’s not sure why or how… but it’s something he feels he’s seen in another place, mirrored on another face.

Then he finds a good shot of Michael, examining his profile. There’s not much he can learn from this shot, but still takes time going over the features as best he can. Dean carries on with the video after that, skipping towards the end.

Michael flies back down with a grin, a slumped over Nick in his grip. The cameraperson rushes over from their hiding spot. “Michael! Michael!” she shouts, “Cassie Robinson – how does it feel to take down your brother? Just what was he planning?”

He’s startled, and momentarily slips out of his ease. His body starts to tense, regaining some of that rigid posture from before, before answering with a severe expression. “I wouldn’t recommend it, Cassie, but it had to be done. My brother here wouldn’t have stopped if I didn’t take him down.”

“So where will he go now?”

“He’s still my brother,” Michael looks down, a small smile on his face, “I’ll be keeping a tight leash on him from now on.” He shifts back into a serious tone, “If you’ll excuse me, I need to attend to the rest of this.” Michael flies back up, Nick in tow. Cassie captures a few more shots of the heroes taking down the remaining villains before closing.

‘ _Something about that isn’t right_ ,’ he thinks, trying to place what the weird feeling he has is. It strikes him, and he pulls up other videos he’s bookmarked earlier in the week.

They’re all interviews of Michael. The first one, where he was being introduced as the newest member of the League, was awkward. Most of his answers were mumbled out, and it was plain to see how uncomfortable he felt in front of a camera. Following interviews before his battle with Nick were in the same vein.

After the fight… there’s a complete shift. He’s doing more interviews, and charms each newscaster and journalist. Michael quickly rises to the top, becoming the face of the League.

“Dean? I’m back early – I thought maybe we could… what are you doing?”

“Shit,” Dean closes his laptop, gaping at Castiel as he zeroes in on the notebook open at his legs. The other boy moves forward, swiping it away before Dean could react. He stares hard at the symbol on top – the same one Dean doodled weeks ago, now blown-up with notes scattered around it. Castiel finally turns his gaze to Dean, eyes harsh and hurt.

“Just what are you doing?” he stars, voice deep and deadly, sending all the wrong shivers up Dean’s body.

“It’s – it’s just research,” Dean admitted weakly, “Curious about… stuff…”

“This doesn’t look like simple curiosity, _Dean_ ,” Castiel tosses the book in his face, “’Weird feeling’, ‘Apathy’, ‘Michael connected somehow’ – just what are you getting at? Are you some – some _conspiracy_ theory nut?” He takes a step back, “Were you just getting close to –“

“No, _No!”_ Dean stops him, jumping out of bed to grab him before he ran, “Look I can… I can explain.”

“I fail to see how you can dig yourself out of this one.”

Dean sighs, letting Castiel go to pace around the room. “Can you just… can you sit, please?” he asks, “You standing there ain’t making this easy…”

“You know what is easy, Dean,” Castiel says, slumping onto the bed, “The _truth_ ; which you have been hiding from me. We… we promised –“

“I know, but Cas… it’s not like I didn’t – I… I _couldn’t_ , not until I knew what I was,” Dean sighs, the tension wringing him dry. He pushes his books away and joins Castiel on the bed. “So, it all started like this…”

Dean recounts his story to Castiel, paying close attention to how the boy’s face shifts with each turn. The worry of Mr. Shurley’s strange feeling, the fear of Dean being targeted for his investigation, and the complete disbelief at Michael having any involvement.

“He’s my brother, Dean.”

“I know,” he says, “You think I wanted to tell you _any_ of this unless I was one-hundred percent sure?”

“And are you?”

“I’m… I’m not there yet,” Dean admits, rubbing at his neck, “But you gotta admit things aren’t adding up in his favor.”

“Then let me help you.”

“Wait – seriously?”

“Yes,” Castiel says, standing, “I’ll show you that Michael isn’t involved _whatsoever_.”

* * *

“Cas, I know you’ve got a mission and all,” Dean says, peeking nervously around the cockpit as they fly high above the ground, “but are you sure this is allowed?”

“I’m basically a member already, Dean,” Castiel says, “Besides, I’ve been flying these since my first year.” He casts a bored glance in his direction, “What? Are you scared?”

“No!” Dean frowns, tightening his grip on the seatbelt, “…Just nervous.” He has reason to be, seeing as the boys snuck into the Academy’s garage and stole the small plane. Dean was convinced they’d be caught when they moved towards the hangar, or someone would notice them taxing onto the runway. But none of the guards had even glanced in their direction.

“The only thing you should be feeling is shame for thinking Michael could have something to do with all the nonsense you’re _‘finding’_ ,” Castiel chides, guiding them through a rough patch of turbulence while Dean holds on tightly.

“It’s just facts, Cas,” Dean starts, trying to turn to his friend without losing his stomach, “Look, I understand it’s pretty hard to take –“

“You have no idea, Dean Winchester,” Castiel growls, taking his eyes away from the sky, “So you’d be wise to stop talking.”

“You’re not the only one with a brother y’know –“

“Yes but your brother didn’t save your _life_!”

The confession hits Dean hard, drawing all argument from him. His frustration bleeds into confusion, then worry. Castiel has returned to staring head-on, sitting uncomfortably straight in the pilot’s seat.

“He… he what?”

“You heard what I said,” Castiel says, “I don’t think I have to repeat myself a second time.”

Dean turns inwards, hunching over, knocking his knees together. He shyly looks over at Castiel every few seconds, questions at the front of his mind, the only thing keeping him silent was his concern for the other boy’s privacy.

Castiel sighs after a good while, and takes the decision away from him. “It was during the Day of 100 Devils,” he starts, low and unsure, “I was just a kid. Before that day, Michael and Nick were my brothers. We got along well enough, even though they were _much_ older than I… when Mother wasn’t looking each of them would sneak me away and play with me. It had always been a thing, ever since I could remember,” he chuckles, “Michael would take me flying, and we’d soar around for hours while he pointed out different birds and what the clouds looked like. Nick took me to the basement where we’d hide in the shadows and do… whatever. When I got older… and came more into my powers… Nick’s idea of playing changed. He warped our alone time into _studies_ – testing my abilities in frightening ways and I, like the child I was, didn’t know any better. Until that day.”

“I was with him when it all happened, with Pamela,” Castiel continues, “He brought me into the headquarters because he wanted to show me something. It was a device and I – I was supposed to wear it. But I didn’t want to play that way, I wanted to chase. I grabbed his machine and ran as fast as I could, around every corner, Nick behind me grew increasingly angrier. I only stopped after bumping into Pamela. He didn’t know anyone would be there – he wasn’t protecting himself and…” Dean nods, aware of what happened next.

“He wanted to _use_ me – to power his machines,” Castiel whispers, grip tight on the steering wheel, “Absorbing all of my light… it would have killed me, Dean. Nick… he was my brother. He was supposed to _protect_ me.”

“That’s… that’s awful,” Dean says, reaching across the divide to slip his hand over Castiel’s shoulder, squeezing consolingly. Castiel reaches with his opposite hand, drawing comfort from the gesture.

“If it wasn’t for Michael, I wouldn’t be alive,” he finishes, voice harsh, “That’s why I’m taking you here. To show you that you’re just seeing things, and _nothing_ is going on at the Academy.”

“Taking me where?”

Castiel starts to descend, “To see Nick of course.”

Dean seizes, going rigid at his words. “Wait, we’re what?” he yelps, tugging at his belt buckle. Castiel doesn’t respond, too focused on landing the plane on the little strip hidden between identical rows of cornfield.

“Visiting my brother,” Castiel says, pulling the plane to a complete halt, “After the battle, Michael created this special little place for him to live in. It’s called the Cage, and it was specifically designed to dampen his psychic powers – meaning he’s _incapable_ of influencing anyone outside his four walls.”

“Not even if there’s a crack? Or a busted panel?”

“That is what we are going to see,” Castiel unbuckles, leading Dean out of the craft and towards the little hut guarded by two League agents.

“Novak,” one of them salutes, “What brings you here?”

“What always brings me here,” Castiel shrugs moving past them. Dean tries to follow, but twin sets of blasters hold him at bay. “He’s with me!” Castiel calls without looking behind him. The agents exchange twin looks of suspicion, but allow Dean to follow him.

The hut was a front. Its floor: a spiral staircase that takes a steep path downwards. Castiel leads confidently while Dean trails behind, taking tentative steps and sliding his hand down the chrome banister.

“We’re almost there,” Castiel says after twenty minutes of walking. Dean nearly shouts at him, but the sight of solid ground saves the other boy from his smart remarks. They exit into a narrow hallway, at the end of which a solitary agent waits for them.

“Agent,” Castiel greets, “How has he been?”

“The usual,” he says, nodding at the solid metal door behind him, “Barely eating, watching his movie, won’t shut up.” A voice from inside warbles out a few off-key notes, a tune Dean distinctly remembers from a movie he saw. “At least he’s singing showtunes now,” the agent shrugged, “Wasn’t a fan of Britney.”

“And the defenses?”

“Safe and secure like always.”

“Good,” he glances at Dean behind him for a beat, “Can you please leave us? I’d like a word alone with my brother.”

“Like that’ll do any good,” the agent chuckles, walking towards the staircase and disappearing behind a door just out of sight.

“Where’d he go?”

“To use the elevator I presume,” Castiel shrugs, “Much easier.”

“This place has an elevator!”

“That’s not important,” Castiel tells him, moving closer towards the door, “You have your proof. Nick is still here, under wraps, acting as he has since the day he was imprisoned. If you still require further evidence… see for yourself.” He gestures Dean closer. He obeys, cautiously edging towards the door. Slowly, he dips his head towards the rectangular opening, pressing himself up against the metal only slightly and with one eye closed.

It’s bright white and padded, like most asylums you see on television, which makes it easier to spot Nick. From his pictures, he was considerably muscular, had clear tan skin and perfectly coiffed blond hair. None of that is left in the shell Dean sees rocking back and forth watching TV. He’s hunched over himself, enough Dean can see his spine popping out from the back of his shirt. His hair is too long and dirty, clumping together unevenly. Nick’s skin looks pale and sallow, with little scars in weird places.

“Jesus…”

“He has no place here,” Castiel tells him, drawing Dean’s attention away. “All that’s left is the devil.”

        “What the hell happened to him?”

        “What happens to any of us after years of isolation I suppose,” Castiel sighs, sagging against the wall, “At first he railed against the doors, demanding to be let out. Then he started hurting himself, and we had to shackle him, Finally, after all that anger and pain… this is what was left. A man who spends his days watching Freaky Friday and singing to himself.”

        Dean glances back at Nick, taking him in once more. The sight has his thoughts jumping like live, electrical wire, brimming with energy and the need to connect and finish the circuit. It’s all there, everything he’s gathered, waiting to be put together, but the final piece isn’t fitting like it should.

        “Nick?”

        “It won’t work Dean,” Castiel sighs, “No one can reach him. We should go –“

        “No, I just… I gotta see – Nick!”

        “Dean let’s go!”

        Castiel tries pulling on his arm, but he cannot be moved, He presses further up against the door, banging, screaming for attention. “Like I said, Dean,” Castiel grits, tugging harder, “Nick is useless. He isn’t causing anything! So could you please put away your silly little investigation and leave  _ Michael  _ alone!”

        Dean notices subtle movement from the man inside. Nick tensed, and his head slightly turned their way before being drawn back to his movie.

        Jamie Lee Curits screams. “I’m like the cryptkeeper!”

        It all comes together.

        “Michael!” Dean switches gears, “Michael, I get it! I understand! Michael!”

        “Dean have you lost it?” Castiel takes a step back, eyes wide in confusion, “What are you doing –“

        “It all makes sense! Michael, please – you can answer! I get it!”

        “Dean that’s –“

        “…you know?”

        The other man has hobbled his way to the door, his bony, dirt-covered fingers slipping through the opening and clawing for attention. “So long in here,” he rasps, “I thought no one would ever… I’d be trapped here forever while he… it’s… it was so lonely here…” He starts sobbing, the choked tears filling the now empty hallway. Castiel watches, slowly stepping away from it all.

        “It can’t be,” he shakes his head, “It… it doesn’t make sense.”

        “Well believe it Cas,” Dean turns to him, face grim, “since this just got a whole lot worse.”

‘This’ being the weeping man who everyone thought was Nick Novak, but in reality, was his brother Michael. And as for the Michael Novak sitting comfortably in his office… there’s only one person he could be.


	12. Morningstar

        Snow has finally made its way onto the Academy’s grounds. Trees were stripped of their leaves, limbs weighed down by the heavy white powder. Pathways were carved from door to door, the rest of the grounds blanketed and untouched. Icicles hang from nearly every archway, and the student population is now more coat then person.

It’s fitting that when Castiel turns a cold shoulder to him, the world takes his side. The chill set in around the same time the two teens returned from seeing Michael. After their discovery, Castiel could barely speak to Dean let alone look at him. The ride back was deathly silent, no matter what Dean tried. The last thing he said to him was a bland ‘good night’ after they made it to their dorms.

Dean tried giving Castiel time, wanting to see if the other boy might come around and talk about what they discovered, but the longer he took the less Dean believed that would happen. The information about Michael and Lucifer shouldn’t be kept to themselves. There was only one person he could tell, but that could make all the difference.

Sneaking out from his suite was easy – with Castiel avoiding him, he had no guard at the gate. He stomps his way across the snow towards the school. It takes longer than he’d like: shivering from the winds and walking warily around the agents that were unlucky enough to have patrol at this time.

He’s delighted when he sees the door to the building and races, nearly slipping on a patch of ice on the way. Dean enters to inviting warmth, immediately shrugging open his jacket at its embrace. Passing through the halls, he scans until finding what he wants.

Mr. Shurley’s classroom is the last one before the corner turn. It’s slightly ajar, and Dean speeds over to it.

“Mr. Shurley do you have a,” he startles, “a… sec?”

“Oh, I’m sorry Dean, Mr. Shurley isn’t here,” Nick says, smiling up at him from Mr. Shurley’s desk, “Is there anything that _I_ can help you with?”

“I – uh… I…” Dean swallows down hard, “Where’s… where’s Mr. Shurley?”

“I’m afraid he had to step out for awhile,” Nick starts, standing and walking towards Dean, moving in front of him, “Had to run out on a mission. We’re not sure when he’ll be back but… I’m sure he’s _fine_.” His smile feels like a knife is pressed up against his neck, the smooth silver twisting in dangerous figures, always cutting too close.

“Oh…”

“My, my… what do we have here?” Nick leans even closer, trained on Dean’s amulet. He lifts his hand, “May I?” Dean can’t speak, and Nick takes his unresponsiveness for acceptance. With steady fingers he lifts it from Dean’s chest and plays with it. “Interesting,” Nick murmurs, looking up at Dean from behind his eyelashes, “How long have you had this?”

“I – uh… not sure,” Dean coughs, looking away, “Just something my little brother gave to me – said he won it in a game and thought it was cool…”

“I see…” Nick pulls back, giving Dean a wide berth. He smiles once more, “Like I said, if there’s anything I can do –“

“No! No! It’s cool just uh – extra credit stuff I was doing for Mr. Shurley, it can wait,” Dean chuckles nervously, increasing the space between them, inching toward the door, “Or I can e-mail him – if he even answers… I’m sure I can figure it out. I’ll be going now, though. Later!”

“Goodbye, Dean,” Nick says coolly, eyes brimming with skepticism. Once he’s out of sight, Dean books it towards his suite. He slams the doors open, fully slips on the ice patch, and crushes snow underfoot all the way back. The record scratch of his mind goes, ‘ _One-one-two, One-two-two, One-three-two, Out!_ ’

Even when he’s safely in his room, the scorching mark of Nick’s gaze stays with him.

* * *

The rest of his day was spent in an anxious mess. Dean tried getting in touch with Mr. Shurley through e-mail, but every message back was the automatic reply. He even contacted his friends, to see what had happened.

“I don’t remember Dean,” Jo had sighed from the other end of the line, “One day ol’ Chuck leaves and Michael takes over. It’s not like it’s the end of the world – he just lets us watch movies for our period.”

“It’s totally awesome,” Gabe chattered away, “Shurley was always on our case. Dean Mikey… _totally_ another story: tells jokes and stories, puts on Youtube videos – a true substitute teacher.”

Dean hung up each call with a groan, annoyed at the lackadaisical response to his concerns.

With no one to talk to about his troubles, Dean turned to the only thing he knew: baking.

However, no matter how much of himself he put into his latest pie, his thoughts kept straying towards Nick and Mr. Shurley and Castiel and ‘ _we’re fucked we’re fucked we’re fucked we’re fucked_ –‘

_Crash!_

Dean freezes, hot pie fresh from the oven in his hands. He slowly looks to the side; nerves frayed too much from the past weeks to even consider a friendly alternative. “Cas?” he says nonetheless, “You okay?”

From within the shadows, a dark figure steps out. He’s dressed in all black, with a ski mask over his head. The only thing visible is his yellow teeth and dull brown eyes.

“You’re not Cas.”

The stranger smiles, flexing, needles poking out from under his sweater, “Nope.”

In a blur he lunges towards Dean. “Sorry about this, pie,” Dean says, using the pastry to disorient his attacker. The gooey treat blinds his opponent, who curses at the blistering pain, while Dean sheds his mittens and aprons, grabbing a nearby pan.

The stranger removes the filling, glaring at Dean. He fires off needles in large swipes from his arms. With great reflexes Dean blocks them, advancing. In a moment between rounds, Dean takes the pan and slams it across his attackers face.

“Gonna have to do better than that,” he says, cracking his neck, dark mask stained with blood.

“Don’t test me,” Dean says, flipping the pan in his hand. He swings it again, the other man dodging it. The stranger swiped again with another needle, skewering the pan out of Dean’s grip. He pulls back as the metal clashes noisily to the floor. ‘ _Come on_ ,’ Dean thinks, glancing towards the staircase as he tries to put more distance between himself and the other man, ‘ _why aren’t you hearing this, Cas?’_ The other boy was the lightest sleeper Dean’s ever met, and since he’s not responding, the warning bells in Dean’s mind only clang louder.

“Scared, boy?” the stranger teases, scraping his needles against each other, advancing, “Don’t worry… I’ll try and make this as painless as possible. For _me_.” He swings, Dean barely rolling out of the way. The tip of the needle manages to scrape against his arm, cutting the shirt and leaving an angry red mark on his skin.

“Ow!” Dean hisses, “What the hell?”

“That’s right, you ain’t safe,” the attacker chuckles, “These babies can cut through _anything_. Even super tough skin.”  He launches another strike, however Dean catches his wrist at the last moment and twists, breaking the needle off with his thumb. Then, he swings around and roundhouse kicks the other guy in the face, sending him to the floor.

“Pretty deadly,” Dean says, “Too bad you don’t know how to use them.”

“I’ll show you!”

The stranger jumps back up and jabs with his other hand, Dean rolling along the length of his arm, elbowing the guy in his face. He staggers backwards, dazed, allowing Dean more time to act. He grabs the same arm the attacker used and holds it in place, bringing his knee up forcefully to snap it in two.

“Gah – _sonofabitch_!”

Dean doesn’t stop, socking him in the face one more time before snapping off the other needle. He kicks the stranger in the chest and pushes him back against the counter, watching him slide down in pain. Quickly, Dean grabs the other needle and pounces, stabbing them through the sweater and into the cabinets below. The stranger struggles, but Dean knocks him out with one last punch. His head sags, and he stops fighting.

“That,” Dean huffs, adrenaline winding down, “was annoying.” He sits on his haunches, breathing deep. Making sure the other guy wouldn’t be waking up prematurely, Dean tugs the ski mask off, cursing under his breath in shock.

“The fucking _janitor_?”

Alistair McKenzie wasn’t the nicest of people at the Academy of Letters, Dean had heard, but to attack a student? He shakes his head, standing, dropping the mask. “ _Nick_ ,” Dean says, “Of-fucking-course.”

He leaves Alistair in the kitchen and stalks up the stairs. ‘ _Must have figured out we were onto him_ ,’ Dean thinks, ‘ _Wanted to get rid of us like he did_ …’ He pauses, one foot on the second floor. ‘ _Chuck_ …’ Alistair might be down in the kitchen now, but before that he was roving the campus freely. It was all too easy to see his teacher at the end of those needles…

‘ _Get it together_ ,’ he chides himself, ‘ _Need to focus._ ’

Dean moves forward, towards Castiel’s room. He knocks, “Cas? You there? You… _alive_?” No response. He tries the doorknob, and thankfully finds it unlocked. “Cas?” he tries again, pushing it open.

He flips on the lights, finding the room as neat and untouched as usual. His heart thumps calmly at the sight of the other boy in his bed, still asleep. However, the closer Dean gets, the easier it is to tell Castiel is talking in his sleep.

“Nick… Michael… of course… power… power… power… give… no danger… safe… safe… safe…” The words unsettled him even further.

“Cas,” Dean whispers, shaking him, “Cas! Wake up!”

Castiel’s eyes light up, and Dean smiles. It drops once they continue glowing, and his now _burning_ hand has a death grip on his windpipe. “Cas, cool it – it’s me! _Dean!_ ” He looks at Dean with his trademark tilt, blinking once, twice, and a third time before his eyes power back down to their usual blue. He releases his hand and winces.

“My apologies,” Castiel yawns, “But you shouldn’t wake me so suddenly – I’ve been trained to prepare for _anything_.”

Dean rolls his eyes, “Yeah, that explains why I had to take down my would-be assassin on my own.”

“Wait – what?”

“Never mind that,” Dean continues, “We need to get out of here. It’s not safe.”

“You said assassin – Dean?” Castiel says, “Did something happen?”

“Nothing except the school’s janitor breaking in and trying to turn me into a fresh Dean-kebob,” Dean jokes, grimacing at the un-amused glare Castiel sends his way. “Look, I think your brother sent him here to do me in like he did Mr. Shurley –“

“Mr. Shurley? No but Michael said…” Castiel’s eyes widen in shock, “No, _Nick_ said… and that means –“

“That could mean anything,” Dean says, “Doesn’t matter. We need to get far away from here.”

“And where do you suppose we go?” Castiel asks.

“…I know a place.”

* * *

Dean wanted to take the jet again. But, as Castiel pointed out, parking a large plane in the middle of a residential area would alert the authorities, and worse, Nick to exactly where they were. His other suggestion, however, made getting discovered a more acceptable option.

“Dean, could you _please_ stop wiggling,” Castiel grumbles, squeezing the other boy tighter against his chest, “You’re heavy enough as it is.”

“Well we could have taken a plane and then _no one_ would have to carry anyone,” Dean pouts, crossing his arms uncomfortably against his chest, flushing deeper. He feels rather than sees the full-body eye roll that racks Castiel’s body, but doesn’t budge on his attitude.

“I told you, this was the fastest way we could get there.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to _like_ it,” Dean fibs, squirming just a little bit further, trying to ignore the way Castiel’s arms press into him as he flexes, securing his grip on him.

“Whatever,” Castiel sighs, “We’re almost there.”

“Good.”

Castiel starts their descent, and Dean yelps. He quickly wraps his arms around Castiel’s neck, eliciting a strangled choke from the other boy. “Sorry, sorry,” Dean says, “Startled me is all… Give a guy some warning, next time.”

“Hmm… yes,” Castiel growls, voice deeper than usual. Dean looks up at him, curious, to find Castiel with his head craned as far as he could away from Dean. If he looked close enough, Dean would swear that Castiel’s skin was a little flushed? Before he could examine further, Castiel was clearing his throat. “Here’s your warning: we’re touching down now.”

He lands, letting Dean down from his hold and onto the lawn. Dean keeps his arms tangled around Castiel’s neck, however. They just stand there, staring at each other. He knows there’s too much at stake to waste just gazing into Castiel’s eyes, but he’s trapped within the other boy’s orbit – and can think of no excuse or reason to try and escape it.

Castiel doesn’t look like he wants to pull away either. His eyes dip for a fraction of a second before returning to Dean. His shoulders sag, and his hands lightly scrape at Dean’s hips. “…De-“

“Dean Winchester! Just what are you doing here at this hour?!?”

Castiel steps away, giving Dean a wide berth, and turns towards their intruder. Dean can barely focus as Castiel starts apologizing for them, trying to contain the flurry of emotions that are whipping themselves into frenzy underneath his skin.

He clears his throat, turning to face the short, dark-skinned woman dressed in pajamas and a fluffy robe, waiting on her porch. “Missouri,” he says, “I know it’s late but… it’s kind of important.”

She sighs, “Must be if you convinced this poor boy to bring you all the way here from your fancy school.” Missouri gives Castiel a once-over before looking back to Dean, “Speaking of, are you going to introduce us?”

“Oh, right,” Dean blushes, “This is Cas – Castiel Novak.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Castiel.”

“Likewise.”

“Now,” she continues, “If you two don’t mind? We stay out here any longer and my neighbors are gonna start wonderin’ why two strapping young men are out on my lawn at this hour.” She walks back in, leaving her door ajar.

Castiel waits a beat before leaning over to Dean. “Are you sure this was a good idea?”

“Yeah, Missouri is great,” Dean starts, leading him up towards the house, “She really knows how to make you feel _safe_.” He knows, from experience, as Missouri has been helping him reach a level of well-being within his mind since after his dad died. After a serious discussion with his school’s counselor, he and Mary were directed to Missouri.

Missouri Moseley was a licensed psychiatrist, specializing in childhood and teen trauma. Not only that, but she was also _psychic_. It helped in the first few sessions when Dean would clam up, leaving Missouri to fill the silence. She didn’t say anything he was thinking, but helped steer the conversations in ways that made it easier for him to start opening up. _She_ saw how he was suffering, and worked with him tirelessly. The hours he spent with her always made him feel better.

Even now, standing in her living room, he can’t help but let the stress ebb from his shoulders. Dean sits on the couch, patting the space next to him for Castiel. He complies, just as Missouri comes back from the kitchen.

“I hope you boys are in the mood for tea,” she says, handing them cups, “And, Castiel, don’t you worry – it was no trouble.”

“How did you…!”

“Yes, I’m a psychic,” Missouri chuckles, seating herself across from them in an armchair, “Although I didn’t have to read your mind to answer that – the word was written all over your face.”

Castiel squirms uncomfortably, squeezing the cup in his grip. Dean notices, and moves a hand over to Castiel’s knee, patting it. “It’s alright, Cas,” Dean says, “Not every psychic is like your brother –“

“Try _no psychic_ is,” Missouri huffs, “I mean, really. One guy goes crazy and your whole reputation goes in the crapper. But, I don’t think you’re here to show your friend how stereotypes aren’t true?”

“You’re right, Missouri.”

“Would it have anything to do with how all I’m picking up from you now is a white noise?”

“What?” Dean starts, quickly remembering his necklace. He pulls it out and over his head, handing it to Missouri. “It’s a charm Sammy gave me. It’s… come in handy over at the Academy.”

“Funny,” Missouri says, inspecting the necklace, “Thought psychics weren’t allowed at the Academy.”

“Take a peek,” Dean points to his head, “And you’ll see what I mean.” Missouri puts the necklace down before beginning her deep dive. Dean lets her see it all – all that matters, that is. He doesn’t give her the full show of his first semester at the Academy, but Dean takes her through the important parts: Mr. Shurley, the investigation, Michael and Nick.

“Oh my,” Missouri says, “That is serious.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “And… we don’t know what to do.”

“There’s no one there you think you can bring this up to?” she asks, “One of the teachers…”

Dean shakes his head. “We have no proof, and even if we did I… I think he’s gotten to them. He’s got his claws in _every_ mind at the school.”

“Dean,” Missouri starts, leaning on the edge of her seat, “Has he ever been inside your mind?”

“What? No… the amulet –”

“But was there any time you _weren’t_ wearing it?”

He thinks back, and remembers. “In the hospital,” Dean said, “They took _everything_ from me. Luckily I was able to get it back –“

“Come here,” Missouri tells him.

“What? Why?”

“I want to do a sweep of your mind.”

“What for?”

“I want to see if there’s been any tampering,” Missouri says, “It might be nothing, but maybe there’s something there – like a sort of footprint he’s left behind?”

An image flashes in Dean’s mind – of Nick in his robe and the creepy tattoo. He had been wearing the amulet at the time, but even charms have their limits. It kept Nick from fully entering his mind, but not from skirting around the edges of it. ‘ _He could have planted anything_ ,’ Dean thinks, ‘ _And I wouldn’t really know…_ ’

“Alright,” Dean says, standing, “I’ll let you in. But… I don’t know, wipe your shoes or something?”

“I’ll be careful –“

“And only things that look suspicious!” Dean continues, blushing, “I don’t want to be blamed for anything you might, uh… see.”

“Noted,” Missouri says, a dry look on her face, “I’ll try and contain my curiosity. Now take a seat in front of me.” Dean listens, back resting against her knees. “Close your eyes and clear your mind – just like I taught you: One-one-two, One-two-two –“

“One-three-two, Out.” Dean repeats the mantra, allowing his mind to empty. He focuses on his breathing, waiting for Missouri to finish her adventure into his subconscious.

It feels like forever before she’s tapping him awake.

“So?” Castiel asks, “Was there anything?”

“Not much,” she explains, “Definite evidence someone was in your head, though. They didn’t have a lot of time to do anything, but there was still… and you think he’s in _everyone’s_ heads?”

“He has to,” Dean tells her, “It’s the only explanation. Otherwise people would be connecting the dots just like I have.”

“Then you’re in danger, Dean. Everyone is.”

“What do you mean?”

“In your mind, I found a – well, a subliminal trigger of obedience. It wasn’t too powerful… something like that needs _time_ and _exposure._ Like…”

“Like full-time faculty and students,” Dean finishes, “Shit, I bet everyone has this in their heads!”

“Dean, you need to alert the police, the government – _somebody_ ,” she says, “If he says _Morningstar_ –“

_CRASH!_

They turn to Castiel, who stood abruptly. His face is slack for a beat before twisting in rage. Castiel’s eyes glow, and he trains his gaze on Missouri.

“Dean?” Missouri asks him, “Your friend… he never had a charm like yours… did he?”

“…No.”

Castiel raises a hand, a small beam of light building within his palm. Dean barely pulls Missouri down before he’s firing a burst right where she was sitting. He pushes her out of the way before dealing with his friend. Castiel fires blast after blast, and Dean dodges, circling him. He ducks one final time before tackling him, knocking the sofa over and on top of them. Dean tries to hold him still, but before he can get a good grip, Castiel releases a full-body burst that flings Dean and the sofa away. The sofa breaks upon impact, but Dean slams into the coffee table and crushes it.

“Sorry, Missouri,” he groans, “I’ll try and end this before anything else gets bro – gah!” Castiel pulls him up by his collar, and raises his hand to the side of his head. He feels the spot heat up, and grunts in pain. There’s no indication on Castiel’s face that he feels bad for what he’s doing. His usually deep blue stare has flattened, as if someone had poured a gallon of chlorine into his pool-like eyes and killed all life. The spot burns hotter, and Dean musters enough strength to knock Castiel’s arm up before the blast went straight through him. He punches him in the face, forcing the other boy to drop him. “C’mon Cas,” Dean wheezes, “Snap out of it!”

Castiel ignores him, readying himself for another round of blasts. However, before he could fire, Missouri sneaks up from behind and whacks him with a baseball bat. He slips to the floor, unconscious. Dean quickly moves to his side.

“He’ll be fine,” Missouri comments, kneeling on the other side, looking around, “Can’t say the same for my house…”

“Castiel will pay you back,” Dean offers off-hand, “What the hell happened?”

“He was triggered,” Missouri explains, “Remember the thing I said was in you? Must have been in him, too. Only stronger – if I had to guess, the word is also vocal dependent.”

“Meaning?”

“Anyone but the person who put the command in him uses the trigger word,” Missouri says, “gets put in the ground. And whoever stands in his _way_.” Dean gulps, glancing back down at the sedated Castiel. His face has smoothed out now, but the area under his eye swells the tiniest bit from where Dean hit him. He traces a finger over the raised flesh, tracing the mark.

“Dean?”

“Can you do it?” Dean asks, “Remove the trigger?”

“It’ll take time,” Missouri says, “…But I can.”

“Good,” Dean nods, standing, “Do you need me to do anything?”

Missouri watches him for a moment, studying him, before holding out a hand. He helps her up. “Carry him to my room,” she tells him, “Put him on my bed.”

Dean does so with gentle care.

* * *

He’s sitting on the porch swing when he hears Missouri coming. She drops a blanket over his shoulders before joining him.

“You always did like this ol’ thing,” she chuckles, “If you didn’t spend all of July two summers ago fixing it up, I would have tossed it.”

“Just because something’s broken, doesn’t mean you should throw it away,” Dean smirks, pulling the blanket tight, “I think that’s something you said at one of our first few sessions.”

“Glad you were paying attention back then,” Missouri says, “Wasn’t sure if my words were going in one ear and out the other.”

“And you didn’t give up?”

“Only meant I had to work harder to make it stick.”

Dean glances down at his hands, wringing them together. “Cas?” he finally asks, “Is he…?”

“I fixed his mind good,” she tells him, “There was… a lot. That boy – it’s unfortunate is what it is.” Dean turns to her, a question knitted into his brows. “Real sweetheart from what I can tell… but doesn’t think too highly of himself. Sees himself as nothing more than a weapon – ready to be aimed and fired.”

“From what I heard that’s what Nick tried to do –“

“It wasn’t _just_ Nick,” Missouri sighs, “The Novaks might be amazing superheroes, but caregivers they are not.” She smiles, and looks to Dean, “ _You_ were the first to see past the powers.”

Dean blushes and ducks out of sight from her knowing gaze. “I was… being nice, s’all.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Missouri says, “Nice goes a long way.” She waits a beat. “He really thinks a lot of you, y’know –“

“Look, Missouri, can we not?”

“Don’t be afraid to take leaps of faith, Dean,” she says, patting his thigh, “And that’s the last piece of advice I’ll give you on that.”

“I feel like there’s more coming…”

“This thing you’ve gotten yourself wrapped in,” she starts, “it’s dangerous. Nick Novak is a powerful psychic, and if what we’ve seen tonight is any indication, you’ve got an uphill battle ahead of you. Not just the faculty but all those poor kids, under his power… this is more than the two of you alone can face.”

Dean bites his lips, eyes screwing shut. “I… I know,” he admits, “From the beginning I knew whatever was waiting for me at the end of this was gonna be too big a bite for me to swallow. I don’t know how _I_ can defeat him let alone _save_ anyone. I’m scared, but…”

“But…?”

“I have to try,” Dean admits, “I _need_ to. I can’t just stare down at this damned abyss and _blink_. People are depending on me to save the day, to – to _shield_ them from whatever’s on the other side of the darkness. To be there and make sure the sun comes up the next day and every other one after it. But I’m not… I’m not doing it alone…” Dean relaxes slightly, smiling, “I’ve got Cas… my family… you… everyone at the Academy. They’re all rooting for me, because in the end – no one _wants_ the bad guy to win.” He chuckles, “Y’know, maybe I’m not so alone after all.”

“You never were,” Missouri smiles with him, “Dean, I’m so glad to know you. When we first met, I got a sense from you – a… spark of some kind. It was dimmed, understandably so, but you never let it go out.”

“Oh, yeah?” Dean asks, “How is it now?”

“It’s blazing,” she says, “Burning bright – like a beacon of hope. I knew from the moment I saw you.”

“Knew what?”

“You were going to be a great hero. Maybe the greatest of them all.”

Dean blushes at the praise. He feels Missouri reach out to his hand, slipping something inside before standing. “I’m going to go check back in on your friend. You rest up, sweetie. You’re going to need it.” She leaves him, shutting the door behind her.

He opens his fist to see Sam’s amulet. Dean smiles, slipping the charm around his neck one final time.

Dean closes his eyes, thinking of his friends and family before slipping into unconsciousness. It’s the first peaceful sleep since starting at the Academy.


	13. One vs. One-Hundred

Flying away from the Academy felt so long ago. And now, once again in Castiel’s arms as they make their way through the sky back, Dean can hardly believe barely a day has passed since they left. If it were up to him, they wouldn’t be going back without help. But Castiel had other plans.

Dean woke to hushed arguing, catching only bits and pieces as he struggled towards consciousness.

“… can’t leave… too risky… Dean?”

“… need to face… be safe… alone.”

“… protect him… ?”

“… shouldn’t I… too much… deserves it.”

“Guh,” Dean grunted, rubbing his eye, “What’s going on?” He turned, finding Castiel and Missouri on the porch. Castiel had one foot on the stairs, ready to leave; the only thing that kept him in place was Missouri’s hand on his arm.

“Dean?” Castiel started, blanching, “You’re… did we wake you?”

“Maybe?” he said, standing and stretching, “Didn’t mean to pass out but…” Dean looked to Castiel and noticed the harsh bruise under his eye, and remembered how it got there. “Shit,” Dean continued, rushing towards Castiel, “Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you too bad, did I?”

“You did what you needed to,” Castiel told him, brushing his hand away, “It’s me who should apologize… after Missouri cleared my mind up I… I realize how stupid I’ve been. You were right all along Dean I just… didn’t see it.”

“You couldn’t see it,” Dean said, “Nick was whammying you super hard. Don’t beat yourself up too bad.”

“As touching as this is,” Missouri interrupted then, stepping between the two, “Dean, could you _please_ help me convince your friend to stay here?”

“Missouri, like I told you, I need to go back,” Castiel said, “Nick can’t be left alone. It’s bad enough we’ve already missed most of the morning already –“

“What?” Dean gasped, rounding on his therapist, “You let me sleep for that long?”

“You boys needed your rest,” Missouri said, “Besides, it’d be crazy of me to let you both go there alone. I was just about to call your mother, Dean, before…”

“You mean you still haven’t?

“I’m sorry,” she huffed, “But after spending over an hour in the mind of a teenager and cleaning up the mess you two boys made of my living room, I didn’t have the time before my head hit the pillow in my guest room.”

Dean winced. “Gotcha.”

“You can call her,” Castiel said, “I just won’t be here when she arrives.”

He could tell there wouldn’t be any budging from either camp. Castiel seemed determined to fly straight to the Academy and punch his brother in the face, no matter how hard Missouri used her stern look. Still, Dean could make a decision.

“You mean _we_ won’t be here.”

“Excuse me?” Missouri asked, “Did I accidentally rattle too much in there?”

“No, Missouri,” Dean laughed, “Would take a lot more ‘n that… I just figured s’all if _he_ ’s going…”

“Dean, you don’t have to do this,” Castiel started, voice low, “He’s… he’s my brother… and it’d be too dangerous…”

“It’d be dangerous whether or not I was there,” Dean cut him off, “I’m coming. End of discussion.” He looked to Missouri then, “And I don’t have to read _your_ mind to know you think this is stupid – I know. But I have to go back. There’re so many people in trouble…”

“I get it,” Missouri sighed, “I don’t like it but… what can I do.” She gave him a final pat on his cheek, and then moved to Castiel. “Make sure he stays safe now.”

He has been, keeping a tight grip on Dean’s body as he races towards their school. His face set in a harsh glare, no matter how many times Dean tried to break through. He tried all he could think of, but whatever conversation he started was quickly squashed by a foreboding silence.

Dean doesn’t stop.

“It’s weird,” Dean says, peeking at the blurring scenery from the corner of his eye, “I used to be so scared of flying, but here I am thousands of miles in the sky and I’m kind of… cool with it? I mean – there was one time my family ‘n’ I were s’posed to visit Bobby at his property up in South Dakota and Ma _finally_ convinced Dad to buy plane tickets instead of driving like we usually do… Sam was excited and, I guess I was too, but we started to take off and… I flipped. Couldn’t keep from whining and crying and – when we hit a rough patch of turbulence – _vomiting_. The lady next to me was nice about it even though I knew she wanted to throttle me. Since then, we made sure to never fly _anywhere_ … But I think if I were to go on a plane now, I’d be alright… or at least I wouldn’t throw up.”

“Hrrn.”

“Really? That’s it?” Dean asks, “No input? Opinion? Were you even listening?”

“Does it matter, Dean?” Castiel finally snaps, “You’re going on and on about _nothing_ while Nick is back at the Academy and we’re not _there yet_ –“

“Woah,” Dean cuts him off, “Where is this all coming from?”

“Oh, now you want me to stop?” Castiel’s laugh is bitter, “You’ve been waiting for this haven’t you? Well, Dean, it’s happening! I’m letting myself _feel_ and what I _feel_ is _pissed… off_!” He shouts, eyes slowly transitioning from his blue into a harsher yellow. His hands, usually warm, start to burn and Dean can feel the heat singing his clothes. “He’s been under my nose this entire time and I… I thought nothing of it! Nick messed with my head – a _villain_! I’m no hero… I don’t – I don’t know what I am!”

“Hey – hey – hey – woah – woah – woah,” Dean startles, reaching for Castiel’s face and squeezing it, “Calm down there, buddy. I want to get back but not as a charred piece of meat… come on, breathe with me –“

“But –“

“It’ll help,” Dean whispers, exaggerating his motions until he feels the other boy’s chest rise to meet his. “That’s it,” he says, “Let it out with air not light…”

“I… I just…” Castiel’s eyes fade back to blue, and the bright glow seeping out becomes tears, “I trusted him… and he wasn’t – he wasn’t _him_. And no matter how hard I try to push it all down… close myself off and focus on the mission like I was trained to… I can’t.” He chokes back a sob. “It _hurts_ so much…”

“Cas,” Dean sighs, heart going out for his friend. He’s fighting a losing battle against his sadness, and wet tracks are visible on Castiel’s face. Dean isn’t sure what to do, but he knows they can’t keep on towards the Academy while this happens.

“Hey,” he says softly, “can you stop?”

“W-what?”

“Stop for, like, a second.”

“Dean, we shouldn’t –“

“Please,” he urges, “Trust me.”

Castiel slows, warring with the decision. In the end he follows, stopping in the air and letting them hover over a huge forest.

“Cas,” Dean starts, only for his neck to twinge with pain. Pouting, he shifts to a more comfortable position.

“Wait,” Castiel says, “Stop moving –“

“I need to get more comfortable,” Dean grunts, moving forward, “Can you just – yeah, keep your hands right there… a tight hold, I don’t want to fall.” He dropped his legs, letting them hang beside Castiel’s. The other boy’s arms are wrapped around Dean’s waist, his fingers digging into the side of his hips. Dean has wrapped his arms around Castiel’s shoulders, and squeezes tight when the wind changes and makes them rock.

“Are you sure you want to –“

“Yeah, it’s… it’s easier this way,” Dean nods, putting some distance between them so he can better look into Castiel’s eyes. “Cas,” he repeats, “These feelings you’re having… they’re okay.”

“What?”

“You just found out the guy you thought was your brother was really your _other_ brother who tried to kill you and has been messing with your mind for _years_ ,” Dean continues, attempting a smile, “If you didn’t blow up at some point I’d seriously be worried.”

“But – my emotions,” Castiel tries again, “They just… they’ll get in the way. I can’t be distracted, not now when the stakes are this high.”

“Feelings aren’t a distraction, Cas,” Dean says, “They’re what makes being a hero possible.”

“I’m… not sure I follow?”

“Okay, look – why did you become a hero?”

“Why did I…?” Castiel parrots, blinking, “Well – I guess it’s just expected of me –“

“No,” Dean interrupts, “Not that bullshit answer. Why do _you_ want to be a hero?”

There’s a long pause after that. He can see it on Castiel’s face, how seriously he’s taking Dean’s question. It’s a question Dean has always struggled with, especially the first few months after John passed away. But the answer was there, inside of him, waiting for him to realize. And even after everything that’s happened, it never changed. Dean only prays that Castiel realizes it, too.

“I… I guess…” Castiel sighs. “I always thought it was because of Nick. Because I never wanted anyone to go through what I had to endure what – what my family had to. Losing a brother or a son… it wasn’t until that day did I realize the reality of heroics. That sometimes being the best requires sacrifice…” he scowls, more tears brimming at the corners of his eyes, “But look at where sacrifice has gotten the Novaks? My parents decided being on duty all the time was more important than raising their children, Nick was willing to kill me, Michael was ready to do the same to him, and I…” He chokes. “I thought pushing everyone away and locking myself out from the world would make me the best. That if I didn’t have anything worth losing, then the sacrifices I’d have to make would be okay, because they wouldn’t matter.”

“Cas…”

“But that’s not true, is it?” he laughs bitterly, “You’ve proven it time and time again. Since the day we met you’ve been tilting my world off its axis. Dean, you’re the greatest hero I’ve met, and with the connections my family has, that’s saying something. Except you’re not anything like what I was told makes a great hero. You let your emotions run wild like a storm… and put your heart into everything. Looking after others come second nature to you. We have the same goals; yet have taken two _very_ divergent paths. However, I feel _you_ are much closer to reaching it than I am.”

“That’s not true, Cas,” Dean says, “We’re right there together, making the same journey. You keep saying that it’s just me who puts my heart into everything, but I know you have the same passion. Heroics are serious business – something we _both_ understand. A second makes all the difference in the world. And you’ve pushed yourself as far as you can go, and even further, because there’s no peak to the mountain we’re climbing. But we never advance if we’re doing it alone. It’s the people we do it _for_ who help us take that extra step, when we think we’ve given everything we’ve got. You might have been _told_ emotions and feelings were just distractions, and maybe even convinced yourself, but deep down you don’t believe it. We both know this isn’t some job or legacy we have to uphold… it’s a duty we’ve sworn to keep. And taking emotions out of the picture makes you blind. The people you care for… that you _love_ … they remind you what’s worth protecting, and how far you’re willing to go to save them. That, no matter what, you’ll _never give up on them_.”

“I’m… I’m not sure there’s any part of the Nick I remember still in there,” Castiel confesses, “What if there’s nothing left for me to hold onto hope for?”

“I wasn’t talking about Nick,” Dean says, voice low, “There’s so many others we can’t give up on. Our friends… our families… we hold onto our hope for them, for their future, and we use that to drive us.”

“What if I can’t tap into it?” Castiel says, trembling, “I’m not sure there’s anything inside me right now besides anger and hate.”

“Then you focus on me,” Dean tells him, “You have me… you’ll always have me. Just… hold onto _me_.”

“I, uh,” Castiel smirks, “I already am.” He squeezes Dean’s hips for emphasis.

“Did you seriously just make a joke?” Dean asks, a smile tugging at his own lips. Castiel nods before letting out a wet cough that slowly dissolves into a fit of giggles. It’s contagious, with Dean joining in a few seconds later. After letting it all out, they drift into a comfortable silence, content to float and stare at each other.

“Dean,” Castiel sighs, gaze slowly dropping from his eyes to his lips and back up again. He blushes, anxious as to what the gesture might mean. Dean doesn’t have much time to put a lot of thought into it though, because Castiel starts inching closer, the look on his face as if he’s asking a question, waiting for him to answer.

Dean doesn’t get the chance to. Before he knows it, a third party barges in.

“Castiel,” Nick says, flying up to them, scowling “and… Dean. Do you two know the frenzy you whipped the _entire_ school in by disappearing like that?”

He feels Castiel stiffen against him, his rage dripping into his fingers and digging marks through his pants. Dean moves a hand to squeeze at his friend’s wrist, trying to sap some of the rage into his own body.

“We didn’t mean to, Dean Novak,” Dean says innocently, “I was just getting a little cabin fever and wanted to get some air… Cas was sweet enough to offer me a ride and I guess we just – we lost track of time.”

Nick raises a brow at the explanation, and turns to Castiel. “Is this true?”

“Yes,” he grumbles, “My apologies.” He dials up the glare, and Nick drifts back, startled. He looks between the two, uncertain as to what to do. Nick looks like he wants to ask more questions, but chooses not to.

“Well… it doesn’t matter,” Nick sighs, “I need you to come with me, Castiel. We need to get you prepared for the ceremony.”

“Of course,” Castiel says, “I’ll drop Dean off –“

“I can do that –“

“No,” Castiel pulls him tighter, “I’ll need to grab my costume anyway. It won’t take long.”

Nick’s frown deepens. “It better not.” He descends back to the Academy, which was not that far away. ‘ _Shit_ ,’ Dean thinks, ‘ _We’ve been here the whole time? And talking about it in the open? Hopefully he didn’t hear too much_.’

“That was more difficult than I imagined,” Castiel sighs, “I don’t know how I’ll deal with standing up on a stage with him while he showboats.”

“A stage?”

“Didn’t you know? Today’s when I’m inducted as a member of the League.”

Dean’s eyes widen. “Cas,’ he says, “You do realize this is a trap right?”

Castiel mirrors him. “The thought… never crossed my mind.”

Their timeline, and any possible plans, were just thrown out the window.

* * *

“Dean! Dean, over here!”

Sitting closer to the front of the auditorium, Charlie, Jo, and Benny are grouped together in their school uniforms. Unlike them and every other student in the gymnasium, Dean opted to wear his sweats. It’s not like anyone was going to tell him to change. ‘ _Besides_ ,’ he thinks, shuffling closer, ‘ _They’re loose and baggy, perfect for hiding serious protection_.’ Which was needed, seeing as how when Dean and Castiel entered their suite, it was as if Alistair had never been there.

“Hey,” he says, slouching in next to Jo, “How’re y’all doing? Anything _exciting_ happen?”

“Nothing, really,” Charlie shrugs, “All the teachers were too busy getting ready for the event to even pretend to care about the last few classes. What about you? Recovering alright?”

“Uh yeah?” Dean asks, “I’m feeling much better… even had Cas take me on a little flight to get some air.”

“Really?”

“You didn’t know I was gone?” His friends all shrug at each other

“No,” Jo says, “But you’re back, so it’s not like anything happened to you.”

‘ _Except I was attacked twice_.’ “You didn’t come visit me?”

“Figured you’d need your rest,” Benny says, “Didn’t need us botherin’ ya.”

‘ _Frenzy my ass_ ,’ Dean thinks, ‘ _Nick really loves to exaggerate…_ ’ Before he could investigate any further, the overhead lights start to dim. The crowd silences before the stage lights turn on at full blast, lighting up the space and bringing all focus there.

One by one, the faculty steps into view, dressed in their costumes. The student body claps politely for all of them. However, it intensifies once Nick steps into view. He glides towards the center and holds his arms open, soaking in the affection pouring out of everyone, cape fanning behind. Dean glares at him, refusing to stand even while everyone around him has already burst from their seats.

“Thank you, thank you, but please, save your energy – for once, this isn’t about me,” he says, pausing for the audience laughter to die down. “Now, I’m sure all of you know why I’ve gathered you all here today. Usually, we don’t do this kind of thing, but the circumstances were so rare, it called for some well-deserved ceremony: an early graduation of sorts. One member of your senior class has shown serious dedication towards heroism, and after a courageous act, has proved without a doubt that he is Letters material. So please, help me welcome one of the best and brightest our institution has to offer – my brother, Castiel!”

Everyone claps for him when he takes the stage. He’s dressed in his costume like all the others, except instead of a smile he has an impassive mask on his face. Dean tries to catch his eye, but Castiel refuses to make contact.

‘ _What the hell_?’ he thinks, ‘ _Why ain’t he looking here? It’s only been, like, an hour since we split up –_ ‘ His stomach drops, the next thought like an icy dread poking its way around his mind. ‘ _What if Nick_ ** _did_** _hear everything? And he was just waiting for Cas to be alone so he could worm his way back into his brain? Idiot… should’ve had Missouri get him a charm or something like mine…_ ’

Castiel had finished talking just as Dean tunes back in. He takes a step back, standing stiffly behind Nick who takes command of the microphone once more.

“What a wonderful sentiment,” he smiles cruelly, “Let me just say how proud I am that you’re here, Castiel. Seeing you progress has been… _exceptional_. I know having you by my side, everything will work out. You’ll help make the future shine like a _Morningstar_.”

The energy in the room shifts more prominently than everyone else. It’s in the little things – how the students sit straighter and more rigid, and how all their eyes suddenly go dark as the hidden demons whispered into their heads take control. Even the faculty succumbs to it. In that moment, Dean feels like thousands of knives are pointed right at him. He jumps from his seat, adopting a fighting stance.

“Come now, Dean, do you really think that’ll do something?”

Nick floats down to him, Castiel hovering close by. His face mirrors all the others, and only makes the blades swipe closer.

“Maybe it will, and maybe it won’t,” he shrugs, “Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try.”

“God you heroes are so annoying,” Nick scowls, rolling his eyes, “But… you also prove to be entertaining.”

Dean smirks, “Then you must have had a riot all these years, Nick.”

The older man glares at him, and he sends a quick thanks to Sam for the amulet – without it, he’s afraid he’d be on the wrong side of an aneurysm. “You know,” Nick says plainly, “I guessed you had some knowledge of my plans but… I clearly underestimated your ability.”

“Oh, you have no idea my _ability_.”

“Well, then,” Nick grins now, “I guess we’ll have to find out then, won’t we?” _Snap!_ “Get him!”

He feels at least four students slam into his back, sliding him forward. It’s not enough to send him to the ground, but he nearly loses his footing. Around him he sees more and more kids start to swarm, his space quickly closing in on him. Dean tears himself away from the first attackers, allowing his sweats to shred and reveal his own costume underneath. He grabs his shield from the strap on his back and slides it on, dropping into a low defensive stance.

It’s all a blur. They’re coming at him from all sides, and he relies on his muscle memory for most of it. Sweeping the leg, uppercuts, using his shield to block and knock into others. But for every one kid he pushed away, five more popped into their place. Soon enough, he was taking more hits than he was giving. What hurt more was when he would get a clear image of who he was fighting – someone he had class with or saw milling about in the campus – and hesitate. He couldn’t use his full force; no one was fighting by choice.

Dean never stood a chance on his own. The mob has him on his knees, his arms held akimbo, with one kid tugging his hair until he’s staring up at a gloating Nick.

“If that’s all there is,” Nick says, “then I guess my first impression was right.”

“Who cares what you think? Cheap tricks are all you are,” Dean says, breath ragged, “Not willing to get your hands dirty… having kids do your dirty work? Pretty low if you ask me, I mean what kind of person does that?”

“Uh – an _evil_ one?” he chuckles, “Haven’t you been paying attention? Or did you get hit one too many times?”

“Oh, this is nothing,” Dean challenges, “I’ve had worse bumps going over an unpaved road in the middle of January!”

“Well, maybe just this once,” he smirks, landing in front of Dean, “I will get my hands dirty.”

“Bring it – _oof!_ ”

The first blow knocks all the spit and a little blood from his mouth. The next one makes his stomach high-five his spine. Nick’s face gleefully lights up with every hit.

“What?” he asks, “Nothing to say? No smart remark or dumb little comment?” There’s a punch Dean’s sure will leave a bruise under his eye. “You finally realize how _hopeless_ the situation you’re in is? That there’s nothing you can do to stop me?” He switches it up with a swift kick in the ribs. “Everyone who tried to stop me is either under my sway or out of the picture. You’re the last, _annoying_ thorn in my side. Just – stop fighting it and let the world end. Heroes can’t save anyone from the _inevitable_.” The last punch sends his head back and he’s certain his nose almost broke. Nick huffs, and dusts off his chest.

“What?” Dean asks, head lolling to the side, “Tired? Lost interest?”

“That’s the problem with having thick skin, Winchester,” Nick grumbles, “No one was ever able to give you the kind of punch you _deserved_ to put you in your _place_.”

“Lucky me.”

“Anyway, I’m not done with you,” Nick says, smirking, “I figured that the best way to finish you off is by making someone _else_ do it. Someone that’ll make it all more… _painful_.”

Dean tries to swallow, but there’s a lump in his throat he’s not sure is from nerves or all the punching. Nick takes a step to the side and allows Castiel to move forward. His eyes are glowing a bright white, and his hands have disappeared behind bright orbs of light.

“No,” Dean struggles, fighting against his classmates, “Cas… please, this isn’t you. Fight this!”

“You can’t fight me, Dean,” Nick says, “I am everything and I am everyone.”

“That’s not true,” Dean shouts, “I know Cas – he’s stronger than this!”

“What you know is nothing more than what I made him,” Nick snarls, “Ever since I took my brother’s body, Castiel has barely left my sight. I made him who he is today, and that’s nothing more than my weapon. I point him where I want him to go, and I pull the trigger.”

“Cas,” Dean tries once more, “Come on… you’re my friend, you’re… we need you. I _need_ you… I – I…”

Castiel raises his hand, leveling it in front of Dean’s eyes. He looks past it, at his friend, and stares into the hash yellow of his gaze, searching for any sign that he’s reached him. The intense light starts to sting, and he wants to shut it out, but cannot close his eyes.

“Cas…”

Castiel smirks.

Nick flies back from the powerful blast Castiel fired from his other hand. Before he could react, Castiel fires off two more beams, freeing Dean from the hold of the others. He grabs him and shoots off, bursting through the roof and into the sky.

“Castiel!” Michael yells, “Get back here! I order you! I… I _command_ you!”

Sirens go off around the campus, only compounding the splitting headache Dean already has. Castiel has him in a carry as he swerves around the blasters the League’s officers are firing at them, dodging it all with ease.

“You… were faking?”

“Of course,” Castiel smirks, “Didn’t want to give anything away.”

“But… how?”

“Before I left, Missouri gave me a charm,” he explains, blasting away a missile someone fired off, “It didn’t block him from my mind, but made sure he couldn’t affect it like he did before. She also constructed fake triggers, to fool him.”

“Sweet…”

“You can’t escape me!” Nick roars from somewhere behind them, “There’s nowhere you can hide from me! I’m all- _powerful_! I am a _God!_ ”

Dean blacks out.

* * *

He comes to with pain everywhere, especially a sharp one in his back. Dean groans, slowly cracking open his eyes to stare up into a starlit sky. It takes him a few more seconds to realize Castiel watches him, sitting on a nearby ledge.

“You’re awake,” he says, smiling.

“Yeah,” Dean says, rubbing his head. He tries to sit up, but his body protests the idea. Castiel helps him into a position that hurts the least, and he takes some time to survey his surroundings. Dean notices that they’re in the bed of an old pick-up. Around them are other husks and parts of cars, all stacked around each other in different piles. It’s a sight he’s familiar with.

“Wait,” he says, “Where are we?”

“South Dakota,” Castiel tells him, “Sioux Falls to be exact. Where your Uncle has some land?” He blushes, looking away, “I – uh… I was listening, when you were telling your story.”

“I’m glad but…” Dean frowns, “I never said it was Sioux Falls. How’d you know?”

“Easy,” a voice says from nearby, “I told him.” Dean gasps, whipping around even though it hurts. Standing a few feet away, Sam smirks at him. Behind him, Mary, Bobby, and Chuck – all in various states of disarray in their costumes – smile.

“What happened to you guys?”


	14. A Climactic Battle

        “What?” Dean starts, pushing past the pain to sit up further, “What are you guys doing here?”

“Hiding from Michael – or…” Mary says, her and all the others moving closer, “Nick, as we’ve just found out.”

“You know?”

She nods, “Castiel told us.”

“How…?”

The group looks amongst themselves before Chuck sighs and steps forward. “It was a couple of days after your… incident in the simulation room. No one was taking any action, and there didn’t seem to be an investigation into who could have done it so I… conducted my own.”

“And you found something you shouldn’t have?”

“Yeah, the truth,” Chuck sighs, “I snuck into the guards’ office for the tapes, and saw Jody mess with your test. I was so shocked I – I didn’t know what to do. I could barely move from the shock”

“But it wasn’t her fault,” Dean defends her, “She – she probably didn’t even know what she was doing!”

“I know that now, but then… I wasn’t sure if there was anyone left I could trust. It didn’t help that I was caught by a few guards and was nearly blasted to death. I had to leave… there was no telling who or how much was compromised. I’m sorry I ran before I could leave you a message –“

“I’m just glad you’re alive,” Dean says, “I thought Nick had… it doesn’t matter. So you got the hell out of dodge… where’d you go?”

“He came to us,” Mary says, “Showed us the footage –“

“Damn near thought he’d finally lost it,” Bobby cuts in now, “Me and Jody might’ve had our disagreements in the past, but she never would have done anything to _harm_ you.”

“If it wasn’t for Sam, we would have almost immediately called up the League,” Mary admits, “He backed Chuck’s suspicions – which, by the way mister, I would have liked to know about.” Dean chuckles, unable to meet Mary’s eyes.

“Not like it mattered,” Sam then says, “Before we could do anything we had League agents swarming our house.”

“They _what_?”

“Said Chuck was under some kind of mind control,” he scoffs, “And that he needed to come with them. We obviously didn’t buy it and… well, you were always saying the kitchen needed remodeling anyway…”

“We couldn’t stay there,” Mary says, “So we took what we could and relocated to Bobby’s _vacation house_.”

“This place is so hunkered down, I’d love to see them find it on any kind of sensors,” he huffs, “It was the safest we could think of while we figured out what our next steps were.”

“But… Missouri –“

“She wasn’t able to reach them,” Castiel answers for him, “I flew to her right after escaping from Nick. She told me how the entire block was under League watch, and there was no getting past them. I figured since they were there, your family was still free… and your story…”

“Reminded you,” Dean finishes for him, smiling, “But you said Sam told you?”

“He was flying overhead when I heard him,” Sam says, “His thoughts, at least. I knew he was searching for us so I dropped a pin in his mind. You haven’t been here that long, really.”

“We had just set down,” Castiel explains, “And waiting for them to find us.”

“Huh,” Dean says, soaking in all the information set before him. “So this is it? Just the six of us?”

“Six people have been enough, Dean,” Mary says softly, reaching for his hand, “Before it became what it was, the League was just a few people, like this.”

“And we’re not just any people,” Bobby smiles, “we’re _heroes_ , all of us. And that means we ain’t letting Lucifer get away with this.”

“We won’t,” Castiel nods, “My brother tried to use me once, I won’t let it happen again.” He turns to Dean. “We’ll free everyone.”

“It won’t be easy,” Chuck says, “Over the years, the League’s been making adjustments to the structure – increasing the defenses, the security, number of guards–“

“Don’t matter,” Bobby huffs, “Boy can add as many shiny things on to the base as possible, still won’t keep me out.”

“You sure, Bobby?” Dean asks, “It’s pretty tight. You can barely go anywhere without an ID...”

“We’ll be fine,” Bobby tells him, “I figured that something like this might happen one day… not the – the Lucifer-mind control thing, but someone taking the base over. So I put in a few secret passages that only me and your daddy knew about. Getting in will be _easy_.”

“It’s everything else that’ll be hard,” Sam says, “I know you said six people would be enough, but we’ll be going up against students, guards… and the _freakin_ ’ League of Letters… how are we going to take them _all_ on?”

“It will be tough,” Castiel admits, “But I watched them in battle with Dean. They’re running on autopilot, not really thinking things through enough or using strategy. It was like a bunch of bugs, swarming.”

“Made it hard to move or land a punch,” Dean says, “You don’t want to do serious damage, but they can take a hit or two. Going easy on them won’t help anyone.”

“Then it’s settled,” Mary says, “We’ll have to come up with a plan quick. Knowing that you’re here with us, Cas, saves us some time. But he’ll be searching for you, and he won’t stop at anything until you’re under his control again.” She takes a few steps back, “Let’s take this inside. Dean? Will you need any help –“?

Dean tries to wave her off. He opens his mouth to speak, but cannot force any sound out. It’s then he notices the weight still caught in his throat, and the way his hand is shaking just out of sight of the others. His heart picks up pace.

“I’ll help him, Mary,” Castiel says, waving her off, “You guys start – I’ll get him there in no time.” She looks between the two, a question on her lips. Mary offers a small smile and nods, directing the others to follow. Once they round the path and disappear behind more piles of dead cars, Castiel turns to Dean.

“Are you alright?” he whispers, “You look like you’re about to faint.”

“I… I…” Dean shudders out, curling in on himself. He reaches for Castiel’s hand, taking it and pushing it against his chest so he could feel how out of control his heartbeat has gotten. Castiel understands immediately.

“Oh, um… you’re having a panic attack?” he asks, “Now?” Dean nods, trying to force the air to stay in his lungs. “Um… alright, okay this is – this isn’t good. Just… calm down?” Dean cringes. “No, no that’s not… are you sure you don’t want me to get –“ Dean shakes his head ‘no’. “Okay, okay… how did you… wait, wait! I remember! One-one-two, One-two-two, One-three-two, Out! Come on, Dean, say it with me…” He repeats the words over and over again, using his free hand to rub circles into Dean’s back. The beat works its way through his body, and helps break up all the anxiety that was forcing him to shut down. Once he feels more in control of his body, Dean sags against Castiel’s legs, taking shallow breaths.

“Thank… you,” he sighs, barely able to lift his head up.

“Dean? Are you all right? That was… very delayed –“

“It just finally hit, y’know,” Dean says, “Everything. What we’re doing and what… what happened. Jesus, Cas, I almost died –“

“But you didn’t –“

“Because you swooped in and saved me!” Dean cries, “And then you ran! We couldn’t face all of ‘em as two people, what’s four extra bodies gonna do against thousands of people, each with their own powers?”

“We’ll do what we have to,” Castiel says, “What we can. And that’ll have to be enough.”

“Do you think we’re gonna be able to do it, Cas?”

“Logically, there’s a very good chance we’ll all die in the next few hours,” Castiel says, “But…”

Dean snorts. “But?”

“I’ve learned logic gets in the way of feelings,” Castiel smiles, “And I have a good _feeling_ we’ll pull this off.”

“Is that all you’re feeling?”

Castiel looks away, bashful, “Well… not everything.”

Dean leans in, trying to catch his eye. “What else is on your mind?”

“I… I really shouldn’t say,” Castiel starts, “It’s not that import –“

“Cas, we might not get another chance like this,” Dean says, “End of the world and all… and if there’s two things I know it’s that Bert and Ernie are a couple, and –“

Castiel leans forward and brushes his lips against Dean’s in a soft kiss. It’s enough to startle him into silence. The other boy pulls back slightly, watching Dean, and waiting. He’s trapped in a haze, body and mind too tired to respond.

“I… that’s all,” Castiel says, breaking the moment’s silence, “We should… um, we should start moving. Time’s of the - um… the essence.”

Dean cannot answer him. He lets Castiel pick him up and fly them the short distance towards Bobby’s house. Castiel sets him on his feet and leaves him on the porch, alone, still wondering why his friend would do something like that.

* * *

It’s a tight squeeze, where he is, but Bobby didn’t exaggerate when he said the view was fantastic. Stationed on the ledge of one of the buildings, Dean presses himself into the wall to keep from cameras and any roving eyes. Not that there’s any chance someone besides Nick would look up. From where he’s waiting, everyone else works hard on a machine that familiarly looks like the one he saw from news reports and articles after Nick was defeated years ago. They move robotically, uncaring to the crunch of snow or bite of the wind even in their paper-thin school uniforms or heavy armor.

“He’ll need tons of space to get that contraption set up,” Bobby explained, circling an area at the center of the campus, “Especially if he wants to get done what he’s planning. Luckily it can’t do anything serious without this one acting like a battery.”

“And I’ll make sure he won’t get me anywhere near that thing,” Castiel nodded, across from Dean at the table.

In the beginning stages of the planning, they understood that Nick would be the biggest threat they’d be dealing with. So Castiel offered himself as bait, distracting him while everyone else works on tearing down the machine and thinning his numbers.

“I’m still not sure you should do this, Cas,” Dean started, “It’s dangerous and –“

“He wants me, Dean,” Castiel said, “He’ll stop at nothing to have me. I’ll… do what needs to be done.”

Before they all left, Dean needed to talk with Castiel, alone. But he could barely say more than two words to him. And when he had his chance, those words were just ‘be safe’. ‘ _If we make it out of here_ ,’ Dean thinks, ‘ _I’m gonna kiss the crap out of that self-sacrificing bastard._ ’

‘ _Dean, you do realize we can hear your thoughts right?_ ’

He blushes, slamming his head back into the wall. ‘ _Sammy_ …’

‘ _Don’t worry, he’s not conferenced in,_ ’ Sam thinks, ‘ _your secret’s safe… for now!_ ’

‘ _Sammy_!’

‘ _Sam be nice_ ,’ Mary cuts in, ‘ _And Dean, focus on the mission. We can talk about this after… at dinner… so I can properly meet him and learn his intentions –‘_

‘ _Ma!_ ’

‘ _Enough ribbing, here comes Lucifer_.’

Nick floats in with two people trailing behind him. One of them Dean easily recognizes as Alistair, a noticeable brace on his arm, but the other, redheaded woman is a face he hasn’t seen. He leads them towards the control panel, where Charlie speeds around; making sure it’s all in order. Dean’s heart goes out to the girl, being forced to help.

‘ _Alright… I think I can see Cas moving in now_.’

It’s hard to miss him. He falls to the ground like a shooting star, making the Earth shake as he lands. Nick barely offers him attention.

“Oh,” he calls out, “you’ve returned? What made you change your mind?”

“Stop this, Nick,” Castiel says, “You failed once before and you’ll fail again –“

“Really?” he asks, laughing, “How? You think _you_ can stop me? _Alone_? It took an entire squadron of elite heroes – mom and dad, little _Mikey_ – to even come _close_ to taking me down. You want to know where all the real heroes are? Here! Under my control!”

“I don’t care about any of that,” Castiel challenges him, “You know how to mess with a mind but you can’t hurt me like that anymore. I fail to see how you have any true power here.”

At that, Nick glares. He waves his friends away and floats forward, inching closer than Dean find comfortable.

“You really want to do this Castiel?” Nick asks, “I need you but I’m not afraid to crack a few eggs here and there…”

“You’re going down, Ni –“

He slams into Castiel before he could finish. They crash into a building and out of Dean’s sight. Dean watches, waiting for a sign of movement. There’s a few blasts before a streak of light shoots up into the sky and out of sight, with Nick’s blur not far behind.

‘ _Alright now, go now!_ ’

Dean jumps out of his hiding spot and lands between two kids, knocking their heads together and them out of the game. He sees Nick’s lackeys notice them, and Alistair snarls. “Get them!” he shouts, “Everyone attack!”

He unsheathes his sword from his side and readies as a crowd approaches him. Dean bangs sword against shield, once and then twice before releasing a roar as he rushes into battle.

The swipes go through the guns of advancing guards, taking out any chance of them firing shots at him or any students who get in their way. He doesn’t let up, making sure there’s no time for anyone to react before he punches or kicks them into submission. Dean lands a blow with his shield that knocks Bela away when he feels arms around his neck. Unable to see anything, he figures out who’s attacking him then.

“Ketch,” he growls, using his strength to flip him over, “If you weren’t in some mind-numbing state right now I’m sure you’d enjoy this.” The other boy flickers into view; just enough for Dean to punch him in the gut and roundhouse kick him out.

He advances forward through the crowd, getting closer to the machine. In his periphery, he notices the others’ fights. Sam holds his own against his attackers. Most of them fall to the ground without a single blow; his psychic powers an advantage in this situation. But the few who manage to escape find themselves on the receiving end of a fierce punch. Chuck, belaying his skittish personality, manages to hold his own alongside Bobby. He sees a rhino (‘ _Gabriel_ …’) charging the duo, only for Chuck to leap overhead while Bobby tosses Jody into his side.

“Oh, please don’t tell your mother about this,” he hears Mary say from nearby. She’s got Jo in a stranglehold, and shushes the struggling girl before she falls into a slumber. “Dean,” Mary rushes to him, knocking out two students along the way, “Come on, we need to get to the machine before –“

There’s a hissing sound as Castiel falls back to the ground, slamming into a crowd of guards and students. Lucifer flies down, only pausing once he notices the chaos that has descended in his absence. He snarls, “So that’s what this is about? You’re trying to pull a Hail Mary out of your ass!?!” Nick scans the crowd, and locks eyes with Dean. He glares, “You!”

Before he could even start towards Dean, Castiel zooms out of the crater he left and blasts Nick off his balance and into the clock tower, knocking it over.

“Come on,” Mary says, pulling him forward. The two fight their way through more students, even coming upon a few League members. She took Professor MacLeod out before she could launch any spell, and Dean offered a string of apologies as he took LaMort down.

“We’re almost – oof!”

The redheaded woman from earlier tackles Mary to the ground; Alistair trails not far behind her. Dean barely has enough time to dodge the incoming spikes.

“Unh-unh-unh,” he grins, “No one disturbs Abbadon. Besides… you and I have a little unfinished _business_.” Alistair slides two more spikes out and scrapes them across each other.

“They grow back?” Dean asks, “Looks like I’ll need to do a better job this time.”

Alistair roars as he streaks forward, slashing across. Dean blocks him with his shield and swipes up with his sword. He ducks, and fires a few more spikes that Dean dodges with a quick role. He sweeps the leg, and Alistair jumps, lunging forward with two spikes jutting out of his wrists. Dean barely has time to raise his arm to stop the attack before his spikes perforated him.

“What?” Alistair asks, “No funny quip?”

“Don’t want to – unnh,” he huffs, “waste the breath.” Dean musters the strength to push the other man off of him and into an advancing guard. He staggers up and rushes away, towards the control panel.

Charlie waits there, vibrating. She crackles with electricity before she dashes around him, dizzyingly. “Sorry ‘bout this,” Dean sighs, holding his shield out where she crashes, folding into herself. “I’ll make it up to you,” he says, stepping over her body, “Handmaiden for a month, I swear.”

He walks up to the control panel, scanning the console for a sign of what to do. ‘ _Hello?_ ’ he asks the channel, ‘ _I’m here… what now?_ ’

‘ _Gut the panel_ ,’ Bobby says, ‘ _We’ll handle the other side_.’ Dean shrugs, raising his sword to strike. Before he could swing it down, a lone spike flies through the air and hits his hand, forcing the sword from his grip.

“Oh no you don’t,” Alistair advances, “It’s not going to be that easy!” He advances; twin sharp spikes ready to skewer him. Dean winces, but rolls out of the way one more time. Alistair misses, and instead sends his spikes through the panel.

“Actually,” Dean smirks, “It really is.” Dean slams his shield into the back of Alistair’s head and lets him slump against the panel. He staggers towards his sword and picks it up.

“You think this is over?”

Nick is waiting for him, and before he could react knocks Dean towards the school’s steps. He groans, with only enough time to notice a bruised and bloodied Castiel hurtling towards him at great speeds. “Aah!” he cries, doubling over onto the other boy, “C-Cas?”

“I tried,” he rasps, “I really tried… he’s too powerful… Michael’s powers…”

Dean looks up, where Nick scowls at him. He raises a brow before bulleting towards them. As fast as he could, Dean swings his shield in front of them. The clang overpowers any other sound in the area. Nick keeps pushing, testing the limits of Dean’s shield and strength. It takes everything Dean has to fling him away.

“We need to go…” Castiel says, “Powers… his powers…”

‘ _If only he didn’t have any…_ ’ Dean’s eyes light up, struck with an idea. “Come on,” Dean says, “Just a little bit more… we’ve got this.” He lifts him up and swings an arm over his shoulders, dragging Castiel up the steps and into the building.

“You’ve been nothing but a nuisance, Dean Winchester,” he hears from behind, echoing in the hallway, “From the moment we met, I could tell you’d annoy me. With your big heart and endless drive… you represented everything I hated. A person who keeps going, and keeps helping, no matter how cruel the world treats them.” Dean counts the doors, hoping the one he’s looking for is close. “You make me sick. You’re the reason why I want this whole cruel experiment called ‘life’ to end. Because there’s nothing in it that makes you keep going. There’s no such thing as love and hope, and the only thing stopping us all from taking that plunge are the delusions we’ve been forced to live with.”

Dean finally reaches the room just as Nick catches up with them. He feels the gust of air behind them as Nick chuckles. “I’m gonna show you just how wrong you are.”

He punches, sending them flying into the room underneath the busted door. Castiel is thrown from Dean’s grip, hitting up against a few desks and landing in a pile. Dean lifts his head to see Nick strutting into the room. The other man looks down on him, focusing on a specific area. He squats, reaching forward until he grabs at Dean’s amulet, pulling him up. Dean throws a weak punch, which he catches easily. Without looking Nick twists Dean’s arm, wrenching it out of place, and forcing a wet scream from him. Nick kept his gaze on the amulet before flitting his eyes up to Dean, smirking. “I always wondered why I could never get in there,” he admits, “If you didn’t wear this… it all could have been different. You could have helped me, Dean…” He rips it from Dean’s neck and tosses it to the side.

“No…”

“I was gonna kill you,” Nick admits, “But… where’s the theater? We’d all be following soon after… so I think I’m gonna do something worse,” he grins evilly, “I’m gonna dig deep into your little noggin, and take away everything that makes you _Dean Winchester_. All your memories… your family and friends… your passions and dreams… until you’re left as nothing but a shell. And when the world ends, you’ll do it not even knowing your own name!” He holds a hand out, aimed at Dean’s skull.

Dean braces for impact, for his mind to go, but… nothing happens.

“What?” Nick gasps, taking a step back, “But… the amulet’s gone! How are you -?”

“Didn’t you know… Nick…” Dean grins, “in detention… your punishment is… _humanity_.”

“No,” Nick says, backing up. He bumps into something, and turns to find Castiel waiting at the entrance, a wicked grin on his face.

“Smile, Nick,” Castiel says, “You’ve had this coming for a long time.” He bashes his fist into Nick’s jaw, sending him to the floor. Dean picks himself up as Castiel kicks Nick in the ribs. He gingerly cradles his arm, and watches as his friend takes his fury out on his brother. “You think this world gives us nothing? All it does is give… and you’d notice it if you ever let yourself see! It gives you _friends_ … it gives you _family_ … it gives you love and hope and all you needed to do was _accept_ it!” He slams both fists down over Nick’s head and knocks him down once more. Castiel walks away, outside the door, and turns around, eyes ablaze. “But even if you did, you wouldn’t have appreciated any of it would you? You don’t deserve _any_ love.”

Dean jumps out of range as Castiel fires a blast at Nick’s prone figure, forcing him through the wall and back out into the quad. He’s buried under rubble, surrounded by all the others who have fallen.

“That was sweet, Cas,” Dean says, the other boy walking up behind him, “Remind me to never piss _you_ off again.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah -”

Castiel spins him around, grabbing his waist with one hand and cupping his face in the other, and plants an even deeper kiss than before onto his lips. Dean is taken aback in shock at first, but finds himself falling into it soon enough. They break apart for air, resting their foreheads against each other.

“What was,” he asks, breathing heavily, “that for?”

“To let you know,” Castiel laughs, “That I _did_ hear you before.”

Dean blushes, “Oh…”

Their happy moment is cut short by rock scraping against rock and a manic laughter. “You think this is over?” he asks, “You think I can be stopped? I’m just getting started boys… I was only playing, but now -”

Dean and Castiel can only watch as Nick readies another psychic blow, unable to protect themselves. But before Nick could strike, Sam jumps between them and brings up his hands. Nick’s eyes widen and he shouts out, but is too late. He flies back and into his machine, sliding down into the ground.

“Jesus, Sammy,” Dean asks, “What did you do?”

“I sent his attack back on him,” he answers, “Did to him what he was going to do to you.”

“And that’s…?”

“I don’t think we _ever_ want to find out.”

Mary, Chuck, and Bobby join them, each sporting their own aches and bruises. “It’s over?” she asks, “Nick…”

“He won’t be getting back up anytime soon,” Castiel says. They group even closer together, letting the world roll back off their shoulders.

“So,” Dean asks, “What do we do now?”

Bobby shrugs, taking in the littered campus. It’s easier to see now that the sun is starting to crest nearby, how students, teachers, and guards alike are slumped over each other, slowly being overtaken by falling snow. There’s loose debris and rubble everywhere, and the former glory of the Academy is a distant memory. Even Nick poses no threat, with slack jaw and hazy eyes, his doomsday machine – a monument to his madness – broken like its master.

“We rebuild.”


	15. Epilogue

“Halo I’m home!”

Dean kicks off his shoes in the hallway, chuckling at Castiel’s grumbled response. “It’s my codename, not a pet name,” he’d said the first time Dean used it; however, he quickly yielded to the onslaught of kisses he received afterward. Similar to the kiss he’s now dropping onto his boyfriend’s head – except singular and with greater force and ferocity, leaving a wet _smack_ to fill the silent room.

“So,” Dean continues, “What did you do today?”

“Kept working on this,” Castiel gestures to the easel in front of him, “it is… _frustrating_.” Painting is still a new hobby for him, but one that they managed to find he liked. It was a rough go the first time they tried – during a ‘Wine’  & Paint night Charlie hosted near the end of February. But Castiel kept at it, and two and a half months later he’s improved exceedingly. Even if there are paint stains all over his hands, white t-shirt, and jeans, at least there’s more of it on the canvas.

“I can tell,” Dean smirks, now snaking his arms around Castiel’s neck, “You’re all stiff and brooding… haven’t seen you like this in awhile.”

        Since the start of the Academy’s spring semester, Castiel’s personality had taken a shift. Even though his acceptance into the League was a ploy, Jody kept the offer of membership on the table. However, to his parents’ disappointment, Castiel deferred the chance to become a full-time hero, preferring to spend his time finding himself.

Which he began by accompanying Gabriel on a month-long backpacking trip through Europe for winter break. When Dean first heard of Castiel’s plans, he thought the other boy had just developed a sense of humor. It didn’t help that while he was laughing, Castiel was nothing but serious. They were lounging together on Dean’s cot in the hospital wing, Castiel holding Dean tight in his arms.

“We almost _died_ , Dean,” he explained, “and there is so much I haven’t tried. I figured who better to jump into the deep end with than Gabriel?”

“I understand,” Dean started, glancing off to the side, “Don’t know why you’re going with Gabriel and not… y’know, me…”

Castiel smirked, pressing a soft kiss onto the side of Dean’s head. “I would love nothing more than to experience the _world_ with you, Dean. But you need to spend your break _recovering_.” He pouted, but couldn’t fault his boyfriend’s logic; not when his side was still bruising and his arm was bound in a cast.

So while Castiel jaunt across a continent, Dean was locked away in his room in Lawrence slowly going insane. It didn’t help that his boyfriend was horrible at texting and would barely update him every three days. He only assumed it was because he was too tired dealing with Gabriel’s crazy, and when they reunited it would be to a frazzled Castiel begging him to never let him travel with the smaller boy again.

A newfound friendship was not what he was expecting. But when the Academy started back up, he found Gabriel sitting comfortably in their living room, laughing with Castiel.

“Don’t be jealous, Dean-O,” Gabriel said, “I’m not gonna steal your boy-toy away. Cassie’s not my type anyhow.”

“Really, Dean,” Castiel had said later, when Gabriel had left, “We just bonded. He’s not at all like I thought…” 

        “I remember you calling him a  _ menace _ ?”

        “He still is but… I’m pretty sure it was all Nick,” Castiel told him,  “ _ aggravating _ our petty behavior and our worst habits so we all were at each other’s throats and not look to closely. Gabriel’s actually pretty…  _ cool _ .”

Gabriel and Castiel’s friendship wasn’t the weirdest sight on campus anyway. It seemed all the social circles were shaken after Nick was removed. Students were more relaxed, calmer… kids he had poor relations with before were much more amicable. Ketch had even taken some time in the first week back to apologize for his past behavior.

It became too much when he caught Gabriel and Jo making out underneath a tree out on the campus.

‘ _Now that was a couple_ ** _no one_** _saw coming…_ ’

“So,” Cas says, “Anything interesting happen today?” He picks up his brush and pallet and swirls the lilac around before streaking it over some yellow.

“Nothing much,” Dean shrugs, “Classes were fine. Kicked Charlie’s butt in practice.”

“She sure won’t be happy about that.”

“She’s already started texting me memes non-stop,” Dean says, “By the way, we’re supposed to have dinner with my mom later.”

“I take it she’ll be coming here?” Castiel smirks, glancing at him.

“Of course,” Dean smiles, “Woman can fight crime, run a school, but her only weakness is a simple recipe.”

“Your mother is a busy woman,” Castiel defends her, “She’s lucky she has you to make sure she stays well fed.”

It wasn’t just the students that went through a complete overhaul. The faculty was just as much victims of Nick’s machinations, and none felt fit enough to step into the role of Dean as the school. And with Michael recovering in a hospital until they could figure out a way to switch him back into his body, all eyes turned to Mary.

She accepted, of course. But she didn’t come alone. Under the new leadership of Hunter, certain bans were lifted. Whether it was the ‘no psychics’ rule or the ‘no Bobby Singer’ rule, Mary managed to change things so Dean’s entire family could join him at the Academy.

And like with Dean, the move has definitely helped. Sam managed to become the most popular kid in his freshman class. Apparently, when you land the finishing blow on one of the greatest villains in history, word travels fast. It hasn’t gone to his head _too_ much. He still spends most of his time with his nose in his books, albeit joined by his roommate and new friend Kevin.

Bobby took a big step, too. Besides taking a teaching position at the Academy, he also asked Mary on a real date. “We’ve seen the end of the world too many times,” he reasoned, “Figure I should do this before one of ‘em decides to _stick_.”

She said yes.

“So what are you gonna make?”

Dean pauses, looking towards the kitchen before returning his gaze to Castiel’s painting. “I don’t know,” he says, “I’ve got time though. Think I’m just gonna watch you paint for a while.”

“Like this?” Castiel asks, gesturing to the arms still in a tight hold around his neck.

Dean only pulls tighter. “You can’t move me, Halo.”

“I wouldn’t want to.”

“…Good.”


End file.
